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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29197395">Reprobrate</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanksfrank/pseuds/thanksfrank'>thanksfrank</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adopted Children, Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Blood and Injury, Child Abuse, Dream Smp, Dysfunctional Family, Everyone Needs A Hug, Family Dynamics, Foster Care, Gaslighting, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Cream, Ice Cream Parlors, Manipulation, Near Death Experiences, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Real Life, Separation Anxiety, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Speech Disorders, Stuttering, TommyInnit is Not Okay (Video Blogging RPF), Torture, Traumatized TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:28:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>26,623</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29197395</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanksfrank/pseuds/thanksfrank</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy looks at the ceiling with stars in his eyes. He thinks of Tubbo and how much he misses him, and that kid from the ice-cream shop, Wilbur, and his brother and their sad smiles. He thinks of how much of a cool dad Phil must be to let his kids swear in front of him, and he wishes he could swear in front of Dream, or just breathe without being smacked around.</p><p>Tommy knows this isn't how people are supposed to treat their foster kids but maybe he's like one of Pavlov's dogs, because when the hand on his hair is gentle enough, he's been trained to understand that means the punishment is over. Dream is letting him off easy and he starts to patch up his injuries and this - this is the reward, and Tommy's stuttered apologies come naturally.</p><p>He's a fighter most of the time; just maybe not today.</p><p>&gt;&gt;&gt;</p><p>AU where Tommy lands in the foster system and with Dream, until the family running the local ice-cream shop start to suspect he's being mistreated.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Dream SMP Ensemble &amp; TommyInnit, Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>429</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2458</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Chossi's fic reccomendations for the soul, Crème de la crème of MCYT fics, MCYT Fic Rec</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Introduction</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I put off writing this for a while because I felt weird writing from the perspectives of minors. There will be no relationships outside of the family and friends dynamic. If any of the CCs suggest they're uncomfortable with this sort of fic/writing about them, I'll take it down.</p><p>Also important: This story is very loosely inspired by the CHARACTERS of the Dream SMP, not the real people. Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy has a bed. It's his own bed, to sleep in, just him. It has two thin pillows and a sheet and a blanket, and it's tucked up nice and small against the corner of the room, fitted to the wall. The window overhead allows the morning light to stream in through the sharp cuts of the blinds, flitting shapes dancing white and yellow and orange. Tommy can blame the sun for the way his eyes light up.</p>
<p>He always had to share a bed before, and usually the other occupants were snotty-nosed kids who had a terrible habit for hogging the blankets and spreading out starfish-style so that Tommy was often prompted to roll onto the floor and try to find a comfortable position on the carpet. Sometimes he would sleep under a bed, finding warmth from the body above on winter nights when the heating wasn't on. Most of his foster families haven't seemed to give a shit about paying ridiculous electricity bills just to keep some random kid's shivering at bay. He was never worth the bank statements.</p>
<p>But now not only does he have his own space - an entire room of his own, an entire bed, though it's only a single - but, upon turning his attention to the radiator, he realises he has heat too. For the first time in perhaps his entire life, he's optimistic he might get a decent night's sleep, and it's all thanks to his new foster parent.</p>
<p>"How do you like it, Tommy?" The woman with the clipboard who brought him here is gesturing to the space around them. Tommy has to do a double-take because, hell, he's surprised she would even have to ask that question. He loves it! He already knows Dream won't be like the others, that because he's cared enough to provide these small luxuries to Tommy, he'll be better.</p>
<p>It's hard enough to accept that you're going into yet another home as a teenager, almost grown, almost an adult - the age nobody wants to deal with. He should count himself lucky he's been given this chance at all, the woman had said. He owes her big time so he says, "I l-like it a l-lot, thank - thank you."</p>
<p>She smiles at this response, probably mostly because he didn't stutter too badly. It's not exactly something he can control but when he's at ease, in certain situations, it's almost manageable. Trauma related, or something, he remembers someone telling him from a young age. These days, he knows not to ask too many questions, firstly because his speech might get on people's nerves but secondly because it's best only to speak if you've been spoken to.</p>
<p>"So that concludes the tour?" The woman turns to Dream, Tommy's new foster parent. Tommy is giddy with excitement. He sees the pleasant expression on the man's face, his casual posture, so different from the pent-up fury that others have held against him over the years. Dream will be different. Dream will be good.</p>
<p>"That's it," Dream confirms.</p>
<p>"I'll need your final signature just here, then," she replies, handing over the clipboard. Dream scrawls out a messy symbol, and not that Tommy is looking, but it kind of reminds him of a smiley face. It makes him smile, just a little. "You know who to call if you have any more questions or if he starts bothering you." She shoots a look at Tommy, not quite malicious enough to be called a glare but not playful enough for him to simply brush it off without a grimace.</p>
<p>"Nonsense; he won't bother me. It's a pleasure to have Tommy here." Dream dares to reach out and ruffle Tommy's hair. Tommy just blinks to himself, not used to anyone being kind enough to show him physical affection. Mostly, he's just left to his own devices with a few exceptions of times when his foster siblings pushed him and taunted him, but that wasn't anything he couldn't handle.</p>
<p>Now he has a guardian who pets him on the head and gives him a working radiator and a whole bed and room to himself. Dream will be different, he thinks again. Yes. Dream will be good.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Sleeping In The Cold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all for the kudos and comments so far! I’ve prewritten another chapter so updates should be frequent-ish. Be aware this is UNBETA’D.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The moon licks the heel of the wind, and the gusts kick against the frame of Tommy’s bedroom window. The thing’s been rattling all night and as much as he hates to admit it, it spooks the teenager just a little bit. Maybe it’s because it sounds too eerily familiar to the sound of his former foster siblings screaming and banging on doors.</p><p>He grumbles to himself and rolls over to check the analog clock on the wall. It’s past two in the morning. Tommy had a pleasant first day staying with Dream - they’ve got the whole week to spend time together since he hasn’t enrolled in the local school yet - and bedtime came sadly earlier than he would have liked. They ordered takeout, a luxury Tommy’s only ever experienced a handful of times, and when he explained this and that he wouldn’t know what to order, Dream happily picked something for him. And when the credits rolled after the film they were watching, and the sun had dipped below the horizon, Tommy was alone.</p><p>He’s never alone. He decides he doesn’t like it very much. He rolls over again to stare hatefully at the wall.</p><p>Dream set down a few rules, ones he said really were just common courtesy and should be followed out of respect. They consisted of things such as: a 9pm curfew, no swearing, no talking back, no taking food without asking, keep his room tidy. Strangely, the longer the list went on, the better Tommy felt about his new guardian. All of his previous foster parents couldn’t give two shits about what he was up to as long as he wasn’t bothering their biological children. He’s not used to rules, but it just shows that Dream already cares for him more than the others did.</p><p>However, one of the rules stands out at this particular moment: once in bed, stay there until morning.</p><p>He doesn’t want to break any of the rules and give Dream a reason to send him back; he can be well-behaved when it works in his interest. Plus he wants to impress the guy - so far, it’s been relatively hard to read him. But Tommy is restless as hell, and before he knows it, his bare feet are planted on the carpet by his bed.</p><p>The wind is still howling and Tommy grits his teeth as he opens his door. The artificial light from the hallway streams in; Dream must have forgotten to switch it off. Tommy tiptoes down the stairs. He just wants a glass of water to appease his dry mouth.</p><p>Upon reaching the kitchen, he’s surprised to see Dream is still up, reading something at the kitchen table. Tommy’s mouth opens like a clueless fish to explain himself but Dream just quirks an eyebrow and says, “Couldn’t sleep?”</p><p>“N-no.”</p><p>“Me neither.” The guy’s attention is still absentmindedly on whatever material he’s sifting through. He hardly acknowledges Tommy’s presence. “I thought I mentioned something about not wandering around the house after bedtime, though.” It’s then that he looks at Tommy, and gone is the slight smile that Tommy got used to seeing during the daylight hours. “I put the rules in place for a reason, Tommy. Imagine if there was a burglar lurking around and you were the first person he saw in the dark. What if he had a gun?”</p><p>Tommy doesn’t point out that he’s already been told this neighbourhood is very safe from crime, and that is quiet suburban England, and the likelihood of any burglars being armed is pretty low. He doesn’t want to be a smartarse, since that’s never got him anywhere before. Besides, the adults are right. Dream’s right.</p><p>“S-sorry,” he apologises simply. He turns away to go back upstairs to his room but a hand on his forearm stops him.</p><p>He spins back around confusedly as Dream gets up from his chair. “It’s okay. I’m a bit disappointed but it’s probably difficult settling into a new place, your first night and all. Is it too warm in your room?”</p><p>Tommy’s about to stammer out that no, the temperature is perfect, but Dream hums to himself as if coming up with a solution to this problem he’s manifested in his head. “You’ll probably appreciate it a lot more and have a better night’s sleep tomorrow. I wanna show you something.”</p><p>He gently pulls Tommy to the back door who follows reluctantly. He’s glad Dream doesn’t yell at him for doing something wrong. He hates yelling; it always seems so unnecessary.</p><p>“This’ll work,” Dream explains, taking Tommy outside to the back garden. It’s an enclosed space, sheltered with a wooden fence and overhanging trees, sealed shut with a side gate. The wind is even louder out here and it tinges Tommy’s cheeks pink in its force. “Sometimes you don’t know what you have until you lose it, right?” At Tommy’s clueless expression, he continues, “It’s certainly colder out here than your room. See if that burglar comes around. I’ll come and get you in the morning.”</p><p>Leaving it at that, Dream goes back inside and locks the door behind him. Tommy stands there, dumbfounded. Surely this must be some sort of test for his mistake. Why would Dream just leave him out here for, what, the whole night? His feet sink into the cold dew of the grass and goosebumps rise on his arms.</p><p>“Dr-Dream?” He tries to peek through the thick glass of the back door, and he sees the hallway light going off as Dream goes to bed.</p><p>Huh. It’s not all that bad, Tommy thinks as he shivers. It’s not like it’s the middle of winter when he’d be worrying about snow and actually getting hypothermia; it’s just a little uncomfortable because he’s not used to, well, sleeping outside. Still, he’d be lying to say he’s not pissed off. He huffs out a breath and takes a seat by the door.</p><p>The contrast burns behind his eyes - warm and laughing and happy inside, eating takeout and watching a movie with Dream, to this. How did he end up here? His throat still itches for water. He did break the rules, he’ll admit, but isn’t this a bit harsh - a bit weird? He’s not a dog.</p><p>But there’s some logic to Dream’s reasoning. If he’s stuck outside here tonight, he’ll be lucky to get any sleep; if he does, it’ll be of rather low quality. So tomorrow night, he should sleep like a baby.</p><p>It was dumb of him to leave his room anyway. What’s a little wind to keep him awake? The water could have waited until morning. His head hurts; he doesn’t know what to think. He rolls his eyes at himself, and settles down with his knees to his chest, trying to shut his eyes.</p><p>*</p><p>“Good morning, Tommy,” Dream greets him when the sun has risen. Tommy cracks one eye open, feeling the burn of exhaustion. He stiffly untangles his limbs from where they’ve practically fused together on the ground.</p><p>“M-mo-morn—” Damn, his stutter must have been made worse by the cold. “Morn-morning.”</p><p>“Do you want an omelette for breakfast?” Dream asks politely like it’s a completely normal thing to wake your foster kid up from sleeping outside like a misbehaving pet. “You like bacon? Of course you like bacon. I’ll throw some in.”</p><p>Dream goes back to the kitchen, leaving the back door open behind him for Tommy to follow him inside. Tommy struggles to his feet, which have turned almost blue in the night. His stomach cramps from when it’s clenched due to shivering, and his neck hurts from the weird position he was trying to sleep in.</p><p>The inviting smell of home cooking quickly puts these aches and pains to the back of Tommy’s mind. Dream flips an omelette on the stove and sprinkles more grated cheese on top. Tommy’s mouth waters.</p><p>“Here you go,” Dream chirps, dishing out the omelette onto a plate for the kid.</p><p>“Th-thank y-y-you.” Tommy grabs the knife and fork already laid out and smiled softly. He’s been lucky to get cereal before and Dream must know, just by looking at his twig-like frame, that he’s a growing boy and he massively appreciates a decent meal like this. He quickly forgets about spending the night outside, cold and uncomfortable. Maybe this is like Dream’s version of an apology.</p><p>Halfway through his breakfast, Dream takes a seat opposite him at the table and asks, “Tommy, how long have you had that stutter?” He places a glass of water on the table and nods at Tommy to take it.</p><p>Tommy almost chokes on the eggs to swallow them quickly so he can reply. “I-I don’t - I-I don’t know.” It’s the truth, he thinks, because it’s been as long as he can remember. He takes the water with slightly shaking hands, looking carefully at Dream to make sure it’s really for him. After he takes the first sip, he feels better.</p><p>“I thought I could help you with it,” Dream offers, “take you to speech therapy or something.”</p><p>Tommy eyes widen. “R-really?”</p><p>“‘Course. And look, I’m sorry I may have overreacted last night.” At the mention of it, Tommy bows his head with a frown. “You fancy going out this afternoon for ice-cream?”</p><p>“Y-you’re trying t-to fatten - to fatten m-me up,” Tommy tries to joke. There’s a split second where he wonders if Dream will be offended, and his heart seizes, but the man just laughs.</p><p>“Hey, sue me. You could do with some more meat on your bones. I want to make it up to you.” Dream kind of trails off, seeming genuinely sorry, and Tommy’s fork clatters on his plate as he tries to reply between eating again.</p><p>“I-I’m sorry t-too,” he offers, and this brightens his foster parent’s expression considerably.</p><p>Dream drives them both into town after Tommy’s had a shower and cleaned himself up, and he’s passed some time sorting out his possessions in his new bedroom. His hands still shake minutely, an after effect of the previous night. He already can’t wait to sleep in his bed tonight, wind be damned. He’ll prove to Dream he’s better than a pet; he isn’t always deserving of sleeping outside.</p><p>The shop is called Sleepy Boi’s Sweet Parlour, so it looks like they sell more than just ice-cream. Dream pulls up on the curb and gives Tommy some money, then pats the teenager somewhat condescendingly on the head.</p><p>“Help yourself,” he says encouragingly, “then meet me back here, and we’ll have a wander round the square.” That sounds nice. That sounds like a nice way to spend a day. Tommy nods and utters a ‘thank you’, meaning it, before he heads into the shop.</p><p>A man is running around, skittish, refilling jars of sweets and rearranging signs, a stick of chalk tucked behind his ear for rewriting them. He sees Tommy and almost trips over his own feet before he wedges himself behind the main ice-cream counter.</p><p>“Hi, welcome, come in,” the man greets Tommy with perhaps more enthusiasm than Tommy is used to because he can’t help but raise a skeptical eyebrow. The guy’s eyes are big and shining and happy, and his hair is so blonde it hurts even Tommy’s eyes, a natural blonde himself. “I’m Phil. You’re new around here, are you? Not that I keep tabs of, well, everyone in town or anything but...”</p><p>Tommy bites back a smile. “Y-yeah. I-I-I’m Tommy.”</p><p>“What can I get for you, Tommy?”</p><p>“I-I—” He’s not had time to look at the flavour options and his attention is suddenly divided. There’s a tall guy by the cash register, maybe in his early twenties, with floppy hair that covers most of his face which is more than a little intimidating because Tommy hates not being able to read people’s expressions.</p><p>“This is my son—” Phil starts to introduce the boy, seeing the unspoken exchange between the two younger boys, but he’s quickly cut off.</p><p>“Why do you speak like that?” The boy butts in suddenly much to his father’s dismay who gapes then knocks him softly on the shoulder in protest.</p><p>“Will, don’t be so rude. We’re not trying to scare customers away, you know.”</p><p>“S-sorry,” Tommy tries to apologise, though he’s not sure what for. He’s always been told his stutter is kind of annoying so maybe it’s just ingrained in him that it’s something he should be sorry for. </p><p>Phil, on the other hand, just shakes his head. “It’s not your fault, mate. Uh, what flavour did you say you wanted?”</p><p>Tommy elects not to give his answer verbally and instead points to the tub of mint choc chip.</p><p>“That’s Techno’s favourite,” the boy called Will comments with approval. Tommy is about to ask who Techno is, and what kind of dumb fucking name that is, but first of all, he’s self-conscious of his speech impediment especially now that it’s been pointed out, and secondly, he doesn’t really care. Will, on the other hand, is all too willing to elaborate. “Technoblade, my brother, that is.”</p><p>Will scoops up a large ball of ice-cream and sticks it on top of a cone, and maybe his dad feels bad for Tommy, standing and shivering with that lost little puppy look in his eyes and his insufferably complicated stutter, because he adds some chocolate sprinkles on the top without being prompted. Will hands Tommy the cone as Phil rings up the total.</p><p>“£2.50, mate,” he says and Tommy hands over the money which is clammy between his fingers.</p><p>“Are you in school yet?” asks Will. “I’m guessing not because Tubbo knows everyone in school, and he would’ve told me about you.”</p><p>“T-Tubbo?”</p><p>“Wilbur, quit harassing the kid,” Phil sighs, then he says to Tommy, “come back whenever you feel like it, Tommy.”</p><p>Tommy elects not to mention that he probably can’t just pop down for a cone whenever he wants to, because another one of Dream’s rules is that he doesn’t leave the house unless it’s for a decent reason. He doesn’t think ice-cream counts as a ‘decent reason’ but he hopes one day he can persuade the man otherwise, since he likes it in here. Wilbur is a tad forward but Phil reminds him of the perfect home he’s always wanted.</p><p>Tommy shakes his head to snap out of it. He’s just met the pair of them and he’s not used to outward friendliness, that’s all. He smiles at both of them as a way of thanks and hears the bell chime overhead as he leaves.</p><p>Dream is still waiting in the car. “Was there a queue?” he asks, seeming mildly irritated.</p><p>Tommy hunches his shoulders and stares at the so far untouched untouched ice-cream in his grasp. “N-no, they - they w-were asking m-me-me questions.”</p><p>“Like?”</p><p>“Why I-I st-stutter.”</p><p>Dream looks like he relaxes marginally upon hearing this. Maybe he doesn’t want strangers prying into Tommy’s private life which is understandable, because it’s none of anyone’s business but Tommy’s.</p><p>“They’re a weird bunch, I wouldn’t pay them any mind,” Dream mutters in the end as he turns the key in the ignition. He turns to Tommy then, a sort of lifeless smile adorning his lips, everything forgiven and forgotten. “It’s a lovely day. What do you say to a walk in the park?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The First Friends</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope this (long) chapter makes sense because I basically wrote it backwards. As always, it’s unbeta’d.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dream buys Tommy a phone.</p><p>It’s a present for... well, it was never really explained. Still, Tommy is immensely grateful. He’s never owned his own phone before and it’s not a bad model, an iPhone maybe a couple of years out of date. Dream taking the time to even consider spending extra money on him makes Tommy’s heart swell. He was right about his gut feelings around this man; he’s good. He’s kind.</p><p>The phone will be useful for school, Dream explains. It’s mostly for his foster parent’s peace of mind, knowing that Tommy is just a call away in case they need anything from each other. Monday morning comes quickly and it’s going to be the first extended period of time they’ve spent apart from each other.</p><p>“I think I’m more nervous than you,” Dream admits as they sit in the car, parked outside the local high-school. Tommy swallows loudly and doubts his guardian’s statement is true. He’s totally shitting himself.</p><p>“D-do I have to g-go?” Tommy mumbles mostly to himself. Dream catches it, but he’s not mad. He rubs a hand comfortingly on Tommy’s arm, trying to soothe the kid.</p><p>“You’re smart,” Dream tells him, “you’re kind, you’re lovely. The teachers and the kids will love you. Just be yourself, yeah?” Advice that anyone could give, and it’s nothing if not basic, but Tommy appreciates it still. It’s more than he’s ever gotten or deserved.</p><p>“I-I’ll get lost.”</p><p>“Go straight to reception,” Dream instructs him, and this isn’t new news to him because they’ve already been through this but there’s no harm in reiterating the plan, “and they should give you a map and a schedule.”</p><p>“I...”</p><p>“Tommy, you’ll be fine,” Dream says, a little more bitter this time, signalling the end of the conversation. Tommy doesn’t want to push it so he keeps his concerns to himself. “You’ve got your bus pass for getting home?”</p><p>“Y-yeah,” Tommy breathes. It’s in the front pocket of his backpack.</p><p>“Alright,” Dream says conclusively, “have fun. Come straight home after last period.”</p><p>Tommy nods and before he knows it, he’s being encouraged out of the vehicle and into the wild. All alone. All terrified. He shoots one last insecure look to Dream before the man drives away. All lost.</p><p>Tommy goes to reception, ignoring the few curious stares he gets. Nobody will recognise him; he’ll be the shiny new toy everyone wants to inspect before they dump it. He prepares himself for the worst. The receptionist is at least friendly, and he gets his timetable and map in good time.</p><p>He studies the map next to his schedule and forms a plan in his head; this class is on this class and if he goes up this stairwell... He commits most of it to memory and figures he’ll be alright. If he’s late to anything, he’s sure the teachers will understand what with him being new. He heads off in the direction of his first class.</p><p>A clumsy child bashes into his side, sending Tommy sprawling vertically against a row of lockers. He rubs and rolls his impacted shoulder without any real conviction.</p><p>A visibly bigger guy mutters a ‘watch it’ before brushing past both of them, having obviously pushed the smaller, weaker boy into Tommy. It doesn’t irritate him much. He knows what it’s like to be pushed around even if by accident.</p><p>“Sorry!” the kid squeaks. “I should’ve seen you; it’s not like you’re short. But I kind of am, and that’s why everyone likes to walk all over me...”</p><p>“I - I’m sorry,” Tommy apologises weakly, hating the sound of his own voice. He’s not sure what he’s saying sorry for. He hopes the stranger doesn’t comment on his stutter because the last thing he needs right now is ridiculed. His day is going to be stressful enough already.</p><p>“Don’t be!” the kid blurts out. He studies Tommy, making the taller boy more than self-conscious; that’s if the stranger can even see out of the floppy brown hair that’s covering most of his face. “I don’t recognise you?”</p><p>“You - you w-wouldn’t,” Tommy replies.</p><p>“I’m Tubbo,” the kid announces, taking it upon himself to be extra nice. That strange name rings a bell in Tommy’s head but he can’t place where he’s heard it. But then: “Oh, you must be Tommy! Wilbur was telling me about how there was probably gonna be a new kid joining soon. You already met Will in his dad’s ice-cream shop, right?”</p><p>A lightbulb shines bright behind Tommy’s vision. “Y-yeah, uh, hi.”</p><p>“The ice-cream’s amazing, right? Best I’ve found and not too expensive either, except - oh, no, the best I found was this one little gelato place in Italy my parents took me to, and I had this banana and pistachio shit that blew my mind. Although, does that really count as ‘ice-cream’? It tastes similar but they’ve probably got different ingredients so I don’t know if you could count it...” He looks at Tommy periodically between his ramblings, checking the timid boy is still listening. “Anyway, the point is that I go there all the time and that’s how I met Will and the rest of the Sleepy Boi family.”</p><p>“It’s - it’s good ice-cream,” Tommy admits, and this is a good enough answer for Tubbo who nods enthusiastically, proud he’s got someone on his side.</p><p>“So where’d you move from?” Tubbo asks.</p><p>Tommy debates making up an easy response from the top of his head to avoid the topic of foster families - always taboo, always sure to scare people his age away - but he remembers Dream’s rule about not lying, and he doesn’t want anything to eventually blow up in his face. “D-Dream adopted me,” he explains honestly.</p><p>“Ah,” says Tubbo, “Dream. Phil always said he was a bit of an odd guy, no offence.” At Tommy’s shrug, the kid feels confident enough to keep talking. “I didn’t picture him as the type to want anything to do with kids. You must be pretty special!” He nudges Tommy in the side.</p><p>Tommy knows it’s a joke, that he isn’t really anything special at all, but he manages to smile a little bit nonetheless.</p><p>As students start heading to their first classes, Tubbo suggests, “If you’re up for it, I’ll meet you at lunch break and we can sit together?”</p><p>Tommy is shocked to say the least. He doesn’t know why Tubbo would want anything to do with him. The poor boy must not be too bright if he hasn’t realised Tommy isn’t the easiest person to talk to yet; he’s been told it’s like trying to communicate with a brick wall before. It’s also strange that after barely a few minutes of talking, Tubbo has presented such an offer. Still, Tommy is all too ecstatic to take it. “S-sure.”</p><p>“Okay,” Tubbo accepts happily, “you know where the double doors are opposite the fire exit on the first floor?” He gives Tommy a moment to think about it which is good because the blonde boy really does have to think. He reckons he’ll find it. “First bell, I’ll be there. See ya!”</p><p>He leaves Tommy to his own devices after that. Tommy scratches his head in wonder at the situation and heads in what he hopes is the direction to his first class.</p><p>*</p><p>Tubbo is waiting by the double doors at the lunch hall as promised. Tommy is extremely surprised this wasn’t some sort of elaborate prank being played on him and the guy actually kept his word. He shifts his school bag over his shoulder and shuffles over to his new companion.</p><p>“I usually sit near the windows,” Tubbo explains after they say hello to each other, pointing to the back of the large room, “kind of tucked away so nobody bothers me.”</p><p>Tommy wonders if Tubbo sits by himself or if they’re expecting company. He follows the kid like a lost puppy. Tubbo takes a seat and pulls out a pre-made lunch boxed in plastic and it’s then that Tommy realises he has nothing to eat.</p><p>“Do you have money?” Tubbo asks, preoccupied with stabbing his Capri Sun and muttering curses to himself when the straw won’t cooperate. It’s a hilarious contrast, the swearing and the children’s beverage.</p><p>“N-no,” Tommy answers, realising Dream didn’t give him any. “D-Dream forgot to...”</p><p>“Man, that sucks. But believe me, you’re not missing out on much; the food here is shit. You can have some of mine!”</p><p>“It - it’s okay,” Tommy rejects politely. He hopes Tubbo won’t push the matter and sure enough, the brunette just hums in acceptance and goes about his business eating his lunch while Tommy taps his foot on the floor anxiously.</p><p>He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be talking to anyone. Nobody ever talks to him. He watches Tubbo eat in silence until the hall is packed with chatting students. Thankfully, nobody approaches their table and Tommy begins to relax, figuring he must have Tubbo all to himself and nobody is going to break apart their fresh, fragile dynamic and ruin everything.</p><p>“Oh,” Tubbo says after he’s finished his lunch, “gimme your phone.”</p><p>Tommy frowns to himself, perplexed, but he hands over his phone. Tubbo goes into the contacts app and types in some digits, filling in his name with a little bee emoji at the end which Tommy doesn’t really think to ask about.</p><p>“Okay, this is my number,” Tubbo tells Tommy, looking satisfied, “so we can text between school.”</p><p>Tommy’s never texted anyone in his life because, of course, he’s never owned a phone before. He decides not to tell Tubbo this in case he gets branded a loser. He’ll figure out the mechanics of digital communication on his own; he’s a teenager, after all - it should be his forte.</p><p>“Hey, I’ll stick Wilbur’s number in here as well.” Before Tommy can argue against it, Tubbo’s making a new contact for Wilbur. It makes the muscles in Tommy’s stomach cramp because he doesn’t really know Wilbur, so should he really have his number? He tells himself it’s normal for everyone to be connected through texting and the internet these days and he doesn’t have to use the number if he doesn’t want to.</p><p>That potential issue is quickly brushed aside anyway when an exceptionally tall kid takes a seat next to the two boys, a lunch tray whacking the surface of the table, making Tommy jump. Tommy eyes the newcomer warily but the kid doesn’t take much notice of the glare he’s receiving.</p><p>“New kid,” says the tall boy plainly as a statement, not a question.</p><p>“Ranboo, Tommy,” Tubbo butts in to introduce the pair to each other. Tommy says nothing, just hoping with a little twinge of jealousy that this ‘Ranboo’ character (and what’s up with all the weird names?) won’t take up all of Tubbo’s attention, leaving Tommy to be kicked to the curb again.</p><p>Ranboo slurps on his Coke and nods at Tommy in greeting. “How’s it going?” he asks, and Tommy is distracted by Tubbo passing his phone back. Tommy pockets it and mumbles an ‘alright’ back.</p><p>“I thought you’d be in the art department,” Tubbo comments nonchalantly. Ranboo rubs the back of his head and downs more of his drink, considering it for a moment. Tommy stifles a laugh at the way the boy’s eyes suddenly go wide, clearly remembering he has somewhere to be.</p><p>“Oh, f—” Ranboo scrambles around in his seat, staring at his lunch tray with all the food he’s collected on it like it’s done him dirty. “What do I do with all of this?”</p><p>“Tommy will have it,” Tubbo suggests much to Tommy’s dismay, “his dad - uh, his guardian forgot to give him lunch money.”</p><p>As much as Tommy appreciates it, he could never take someone else’s food. Beyond anything, it’s just rude. Ranboo should keep it for himself for later. “N-no, it’s r-really fine—”</p><p>“Nah, you can have it. I forgot I booked a slot to use the kiln over the break, and if I don’t get it now, I’ll get shoved to the back of the queue again.” Ranboo breathes out a dramatic sigh and stands up, taking his Coke can with him. Upon seeing Tommy’s doubtful expression, he adds on, “I promise you don’t owe me anything for it. It’s yours if you want it.”</p><p>Eventually, Tommy has to accept. He is pretty hungry. “Th-thanks.”</p><p>“No problem,” answers Ranboo, and then as a side comment to Tubbo: “Thanks for reminding me, man.” The lanky boy grabs his school bag and makes a beeline for the exit.</p><p>Tubbo is chuckling to himself. “Ranboo’s the most forgetful person you’ll ever meet. He spends half his life in the art department working on his portfolio because he keeps misplacing all his work and having to redo it.”</p><p>“He - he seems nice,” Tommy offers as Tubbo slides the forgotten lunch tray in Tommy’s direction. Tommy picks at the sandwich for a moment before his manners elude him and he digs straight in. Yeah, Ranboo is nice.</p><p>“Ranboo’s super nice,” Tubbo agrees, “he’s one of my best friends.” Tommy can’t help the way he gets both hopeful and disappointed at this - the use of ‘one of’ implies there could be spots for more than one friend, but the very principal of the statement means Tommy has a long way to go before he can consider Tubbo a friend at all.</p><p>He can’t help but voice a concern out loud. “I - I’m worried n-nobody will l-like me - me, because I j-joined so late in - in the year.”</p><p>Tubbo scoffs, but not at Tommy, just as a joke to himself. “Don’t be worried, dude, the students here are a pretty easygoing bunch. It’s not like the ones in the city where they’re all clique-y and have bullying problems.” Tommy doesn’t agree out loud but he’s well aware of the schools being mentioned. “And hey, I like you already!”</p><p>“Y-you do?” Tommy stammers in disbelief.</p><p>“We should be friends,” declares Tubbo, but then he pauses to think and tags on, “in fact, are we already friends? I think we are.”</p><p>Tommy visibly lights up, trying his hardest not to burst into a smile so big it would split his face in two. He’s never had a real friend before; the other kids at his previous school mostly stayed away from him, branding him the damaged foster kid with issues who should rightfully be avoided. He’s used to sitting alone at lunch break. This will change everything.</p><p>The bell goes and he even manages not to flinch. He hurriedly finishes Ranboo’s - his - sandwich.</p><p>“Well, shit,” says Tubbo, “we better get to class.”</p><p>Tubbo and Tommy chatter all the way through English - well, Tubbo does the vast majority of the talking, and he doesn’t comment once on Tommy’s slight lack of enthusiasm or his stutter when he does reply. Tubbo accepts him for who he is, all his ‘faults’ included.</p><p>The English teacher’s name is Mr Schlatt, and the guy is... forward, to say the least. There are a few occasions Tommy wonders how he was allowed to get his teaching degree. Tubbo doodles on his notebook and Tommy tries to pay attention more than him in case Mr Schlatt calls him out on what they’re discussing in class. </p><p>They sit next to each other on the bus ride home. Tommy would be squirming around in discomfort if he had to sit beside someone he didn’t know, threatened by the sight of strangers so close; alternatively, if he were alone, it would just look sad. He feels relaxed with Tubbo by his side.</p><p>“Mr Schlatt’s a Grade A asshole, isn’t he?” Tubbo strikes up a conversation almost immediately. Tommy raises both eyebrows at the choice of words but doesn’t get to comment before Tubbo is rambling on. “We should be learning shit about the real world and he must know - because he’s definitely smart enough - that this course is a load of bull, and sure, he can’t help that, he just follows the curriculum and prepares us for exams but - but surely he could be a little more sympathetic.”</p><p>“I - I like him,” Tommy half-disagrees much to Tubbo’s and his own surprise. Tubbo, however, doesn’t get mad and only lets out a small ‘huh’ of marginal disbelief. “He-he says stuff l-like how it - how it is, y-y’know?” He rubs his palms together, hoping the explanation is enough to appease his new friend.</p><p>“That’s true. He doesn’t sugarcoat anything. If I wanted some cold, hard life advice, I’d know who to go to.” Tubbo stops to muse to himself for a moment. “Or I’d go to Technoblade, actually; that dude’s seen enough shit to know what’s up.” Tommy doesn’t plan on asking him to elaborate but Tubbo continues anyway. “You know Techno and Will aren’t actually, like, biological brothers. Phil adopted them when they were little. I don’t think Will remembers much of his old life.”</p><p>“T-Techno does?” Tommy assumes.</p><p>“Yeah, but he never talks about it. At least, not to Will, because Will would’ve told me, I should think. Or maybe he wouldn’t if he wanted to protect his brother’s privacy but nah, I think Techno just doesn’t like to talk about that kind of shit.”</p><p>“Y-you swear a - a lot,” Tommy points out, wanting to move on from the possible topic of troublesome childhoods. Tubbo gives him a shit-eating grin, taking the bait.</p><p>“I bet you do it a lot as well, in your head,” Tubbo argues like he’s just read Tommy’s mind, “but you just have the decency not to say it out loud. I’m perfectly capable of shutting up in front of, like, Mr Schlatt.”</p><p>“I-I’m not s-supposed to s-swear,” Tommy admits.</p><p>“Eh, I’m sure you could. Have you swore around Dream before? He’d probably be chill with it,” Tubbo encourages him, and Tommy chooses not to mention the list of rules he’s supposed to follow.</p><p>“And - and your p-parents?” Tommy pushes.</p><p>“Oh, they don’t mind.” Tubbo swipes a hand through the air dismissively. “I mean, I wouldn’t go around saying words like c—”</p><p>The bus screeches to a stop and Tommy realises this is where he’s supposed to get off. “M-my house is a-around the corner,” he says somewhat sadly. He doesn’t want to leave yet. He likes talking to Tubbo.</p><p>“Oh,” Tubbo pipes up, and if Tommy isn’t mistaken, he would say his sudden disappointment is mirrored, “I’m a couple stops away from here.”</p><p>Tommy gets to his feet and grabs his bags, joining the queue to leave the bus with a handful of other students.</p><p>“Bye, Tommy!” Tubbo is overenthusiastic even at the prospect of saying goodbyes. Goodbyes are Godawful things, thinks Tommy, and how anyone can show such a dedicated face of bravery and glee eludes him.</p><p>“See - see you tomorrow,” Tommy mutters back sheepishly, clambering out of the bus.</p><p>Tommy bounces up to the front door, but he hesitates before opening it and stepping inside. Maybe just for a second, he wants to live inside the life he’s carved for himself outside these doors, the one he’s started up in school with his new friend Tubbo. It’s like a dream that’s come true, but when he’s in Dream’s household, there’s that little bit of edge to the fantasy that brings him back into the real world.</p><p>If he was a ‘normal’ kid, maybe he’d yell that he was home. But he doesn’t like yelling - listening to it or doing it himself - and he doesn’t think Dream would appreciate it either.</p><p>Tommy wanders into the kitchen, his backpack still slung over one shoulder, his eyes lighting up at the very world around him. He can’t remember the last time he felt so settled, coming into a warm, comforting home with a guy who looks out for him and maybe, hopefully, will one day come to care for him. He’s lucky; he really is. </p><p>“You made any new friends today?” Dream asks politely. He’s typing away at his laptop on the table, startling the teenager who didn’t even see him there at first.</p><p>Tommy smiles, composing himself, thinking of how fantastically well his first day went all thanks to Tubbo. “Y-yeah,” he answers, “I met this - this boy, uh, c-called Tubbo. W-well, his r-real name is...”</p><p>Dream doesn’t look like he’s paying much attention, too busy looking at whatever’s on his laptop screen, but then he strides over to Tommy and ruffles the boy’s hair, unintentionally pushing it over Tommy’s eyes. Tommy should really get it cut; it gets in the way too often. He awkwardly fixes it with a flick of his hand and continues, “H-his name—”</p><p>“You share classes with him?” Dream cuts in and Tommy nods after a beat. “What did you guys talk about?” He’s curious, and interested in Tommy’s life in school like any good parental figure would be. The laptop is forgotten about. He’s listening. He cares.</p><p>Tommy beams at the attention. “V-video games ‘n’ the - the family in t-the ice-cream shop, and...”</p><p>“Sleepy Bois’?” Dream presumes. “Does Tubbo know them well?”</p><p>“He - he knows W-Wilbur, the - the younger brother.”</p><p>“I thought I made my opinion on them quite clear,” Dream huffs and Tommy’s chest seizes up, briefly convinced he’s done something horribly wrong. But how was he to know Tubbo was associated with Phil’s family until they started talking about them, well after they had declared themselves ‘friends’? Besides, it’s not like Tommy was hanging out with Wilbur himself, and even if he was, Dream never said explicitly that wasn’t allowed.</p><p>“T-Tubbo said he - he said that W-Will is a good fr-friend,” Tommy reassures Dream. A good friend; a good person. No harm done. But Dream had made some comments before, after Tommy had gotten his ice-cream cone, that the family that ran the shop were a little weird.</p><p>Dream doesn’t like this answer either. He sticks his hand out expectantly. “I want to see your phone,” he announces, like he’s going to go through it and check for something. Tommy feels a bit awkward about it but he has nothing to hide because, after all, one of the household rules is no lying, so he hands the device over from his pocket.</p><p>Dream unlocks the phone with ease since Tommy hasn’t put in a passcode yet. He gets the funny feeling he shouldn’t even bother to set one up if Dream is going to make this - going through his personal things - a regular habit. It’s fine, he tells himself; the man’s just worried for him.</p><p>“You have Tubbo’s number,” Dream realises, his eyes flickering over a line of digits in the contacts app.</p><p>Tommy doesn’t know why but he’s nervous. He wipes the back of his hand over his forehead like he’s got an itch. “Yeah - yeah,” he admits as his foster parent backs out of that particular contact and scrolls down to the bottom of the list.</p><p>“And Wilbur’s?” Dream raises one eyebrow, unimpressed. That look on his face is expected. Tommy thought Wilbur seemed nice and harmless enough but what does he know? Maybe the boy is strange, and he is quite a bit older than Tommy. Perhaps it’s inappropriate.</p><p>“T-Tubbo gave m-me that - that one,” Tommy explains truthfully. Dream hums in understanding.</p><p>“You should delete their contacts,” Dream suggests at last, but it’s like he’s giving a toddler a very basic order, and it’s not just a request. His hand rests on Tommy’s shoulders, petting him like Tommy needs to be bossed around and told he can’t talk to his friends. And that doesn’t make any sense, does it? He’s a growing teenage boy and he needs social connections.</p><p>Tommy starts to shake his head, and Dream admittedly doesn’t look very pleased at this response. His grip on Tommy’s shoulder tightens then loosens, keeping himself in check.</p><p>“W-why?”</p><p>“Because Wilbur Soot’s not an appropriate friend for you to have,” Dream explains a little harshly, “and this Tubbo boy is associated with him, right? I don’t want him to peer-pressure you into spending time with a much older guy.”</p><p>Tommy wants to assure Dream that he doesn’t think Tubbo’s like that, and that even though Wilbur is older than them, it’s not that odd. There’s no malicious intent behind them getting to know each other. They can’t be so ‘weird’ that Dream doesn’t want him talking to them at all. He frowns and says nothing, unconvinced, more confused than anything, and his silence looks like it’s annoying his guardian.</p><p>“Delete the numbers, Tommy.”</p><p>Tommy’s mouth opens and shuts methodically, trying to form words. Why is it such a bad thing he wants to keep in contact with his friends? “I-I don’t w-want to,” he tries to insist.</p><p>“Delete them, or you won’t like what happens next.”</p><p>“Wh-what the fuck—”</p><p>Dream slaps him. It’s the first time, and it hurts more than he expected, though he almost saw it coming.</p><p>That was... fair, Tommy wagers, rubbing his cheek. Nobody can expect to break a rule without receiving consequences. And still, Dream doesn’t yell, which he’s grateful for.</p><p>“You know why I hit you, don’t you?” Dream’s voice is low and steady, and Tommy nods, his eyes burning in shame more than anything. “It’s not hard to be good, Tommy. I’m not a strict man; the rules are in place to protect you. I expect them to be followed, and not for you to argue with me when I try to do something for your own benefit.”</p><p>“‘M s-sorry,” Tommy apologises, all hushed and croaking now. It was genuinely just an accident, using the word, but it’s not a slip-up he’ll be eager to repeat again. Plus he argued, and he shouldn’t have.</p><p>Dream puts a hand on his shoulder and Tommy can’t help but flinch a tad, though either his guardian doesn’t notice or doesn’t care because it’s not commented on. “I think Tubbo’s a bad influence on you,” Dream says with a hint of a frown, “I don’t want you hanging around him anymore.”</p><p>Tommy’s heart sinks. The prospect of unfriending Tubbo hurts more than Dream’s palm connecting to his cheek, even though they haven’t known each other for long. It’s like his lifeline has been cut. “I - okay.” He isn’t sure about his answer but he doesn’t want to lie so it must be true. He must be okay with it.</p><p>Dream looks concerned. “It’s for the best,” he explains sympathetically. Tommy nods again, half-believing him, because if Tubbo swears around him and Tommy picks up the habit and uses foul language in front of his foster parent, then he’s breaking Dream’s rules. And why would he want a friend who encourages him to break rules? And why would Dream tell him to delete Wilbur’s number unless there’s a reason to do it? It has to make sense.</p><p>“Hey,” Dream says, “you can keep the phone. I think that’s more than fair of me, because no matter what, I still trust you. But trust works both ways, doesn’t it, Tommy?”</p><p>“I - I trust y-you,” Tommy promises. He trusts Dream is only trying to protect him, though his methods may be questionable. He’s happy to keep the phone, even when Dream makes him delete his friends’ contacts and even clear the information from the virtual trash can.</p><p>He’s more happy than he should be, because he’s already memorised their numbers.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. A Thousand Dying Skeletons</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys! This is when stuff starts to get very obviously abusive and awful so take care when reading. Next chapter will be more of the ice-cream shop.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s unexpected, to say the least, that Mr Schlatt is the one to notice the slight discolouration on Tommy’s cheek the next morning at school.</p><p>“You get into a fight, kid?” The English teacher has held him back for five minutes already and Tommy is not-so-subtly bouncing up and down on one leg, hoping Tubbo won’t ditch him for his tardiness.</p><p>Oh, yeah. So he had tried to avoid Tubbo - he really had - but the kid was already stuck to him like glue, and he figures he’ll just have to learn to deal with the heart palpitations he gets every time he’s alone with his new friend, because he’s constantly worried Dream is somehow keeping tabs.</p><p>Dream does just want what’s best for him, but he can’t bring himself to break Tubbo’s heart just yet.</p><p>“I - I don’t fight,” Tommy denies.</p><p>“You sure?” Mr Schlatt cocks his head. “Someone got a good hit on you. A ‘bitch slap’, in fact, is what it looks like.”</p><p>Oh, God, he does not need his teachers swearing at him now. He has to kick the habit, even in his own thoughts. He’s already advised Tubbo to indulge in less of the sailor behaviour around him. “What d-do you m-mean?”</p><p>“Tommy, I’m not sure if you were aware of this but word has gotten out on who your guardian is. He’s a very notorious man around these parts,” Mr Schlatt explains cautiously. Tommy frowns to himself, wondering how that information got leaked - maybe someone saw him in Dream’s car before school yesterday - but ultimately isn’t worried. There’s nothing inherently bad about him staying with Dream.</p><p>“Dream used to work for the council - did you know?” At Tommy’s hesitant head shake, the teacher goes on. “I have a few friends who worked alongside him, or under him, in fact. He tried to pass some... interesting motions and programmes.”</p><p>“L-like what?”</p><p>“Some old-timely stuff about bringing back certain punishments in school, stricter penalties for antisocial behaviour. I think he was pissed off by the teenagers who kept getting drunk at the park by his garden.” Mr Schlatt shrugs and Tommy barely contains a wince at yet another use of foul language, but the guy doesn’t seem to notice, or care.</p><p>“I didn’t - I didn’t know he’d have c-control over st-stuff like that,” Tommy comments reasonably.</p><p>“Well, he encouraged his ideas further up the chain and trust me—” Mr Schlatt takes a sip of his steaming coffee with a small scoff, “—the guy can be extremely persuasive.” He winces at the temperature then and decides to put the mug back down. “Eventually he was kicked out - fired, I mean. God knows what he does now.”</p><p>“He’s—” Tommy struggles for a moment to speak. “He’s a good p-person.”</p><p>“Sure,” Mr Schlatt sighs, unconvinced, “as long as you’re okay. As long as he’s being fair to you, I should have no reason to worry, right?”</p><p>Then he looks at Tommy - really, really looks at him with piercing yet soft eyes, ready to hear whatever his student has to say - but Tommy’s only known this guy for a grand total of two days, and this is the first time they’ve spoken in private. He’d be a fool to trust someone in such circumstances, although he doesn’t pick up on the irony of how much he already trusts Dream.</p><p>“R-right,” Tommy stammers defensively and Mr Schlatt finally lets it go, mumbling to himself about teenagers and how they’re impossible to get through to as Tommy grabs his belongings and leaves to see Tubbo.</p><p>Tubbo doesn’t notice. Ranboo doesn’t either when they head up to the art department to check on him, too preoccupied with sorting out his own thoughts. Tubbo, however, does bring something up that Tommy would rather not talk about.</p><p>“I thought you said you were gonna text, man,” the brunette boy mentions somewhat sadly.</p><p>“O-oh,” mumbles Tommy, “I - I forgot.”</p><p>“Will you text tonight? Hey, do you have a PC? We could play Minecraft or something; I have a server.”</p><p>“I want in,” Ranboo interjects rather forcefully.</p><p>Tommy winces. “I d-don’t. Also, uh, D-Dream said...” How should he put this? Should he lie? He doesn’t want to just outright tell Tubbo he can’t text him because he doesn’t want to hurt the boy’s feelings. Their friendship must already be on thin ice. “M-my phone d-doesn’t have any c-credit. Like, f-for texting, yet.”</p><p>“Make a Snapchat or something,” Ranboo suggests, “then you can message over Wifi.” He looks away from his sketchbook for a brief second to glance at Tommy, narrowing his eyes, and Tommy can’t read the guy’s expression. It’s almost like he’s being judged for not understanding how a phone works. He winces again.</p><p>“It’s...” Tommy has started to sweat.</p><p>“Well, I have a better idea!” Tubbo is distracted with a new thought. “How about you come stay at mine this weekend? Like, I know we just met and stuff and it’s kinda forward but my parents wouldn’t mind. Oh, and we could go to Sleepy Bois’!”</p><p>“I thought we were doing Bedwars on Saturday night,” Ranboo complains but without much real irritation for being left out. It’s all in good jest. Tommy is hating this conversation more and more.</p><p>“We still will,” Tubbo promises, “and Tommy can watch and learn. It’ll be fun.”</p><p>“I - I don’t know—”</p><p>“Ask Dream,” Tubbo pleads, “that is, if you’re not busy!”</p><p>And how can Tommy deny such a request? He sighs to himself internally, and prepares himself to ask his guardian something that realistically should be a simple question - but with Dream, you can never predict any sort of response.</p><p>*</p><p>Tommy forgets.</p><p>In his defence, it was a short conversation and he was anxious, stressed out, and he wasn’t paying much attention. He vaguely remembers something from lunchtime, some sort of question his new friend asked him. There’s something weighing on his mind but he can’t for the life of him remember what it is.</p><p>After school, he’s too preoccupied thinking of how acutely observant Mr Schlatt was, much to his surprise, and how he probably should’ve made more of an effort to sweep his hair over the residing bruise on his face. Maybe he’ll need to buy makeup to cover these sorts of things up - but no. No, this shouldn’t happen again. If Tommy’s good, there’s no reason he should get hurt.</p><p>But he needs friends, right? He craves the social life he’s never had a taste of before. So he does the logical thing - he texts Tubbo.</p><p>‘What did you want me to ask Dream?’ he asks. His fingers shake as they type on the on-screen keyboard, and his stomach moves in knots. He’s not allowed to be near Tubbo; he’s certainly not allowed to text him. Dream won’t be happy if he finds out.</p><p>Maybe he’ll invest in some concealer after all, as a precautionary measure. He’s not mad about it - not really. People get mad and act out with violence all the time, and it wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it.</p><p>The moving text bubble appears on screen to let Tommy know Tubbo is forming a response. The bubble lights up blue with a reply and Tommy’s eyes start to skim over it before—</p><p>“Who are you texting?” Dream interrupts him. He’s standing in the doorway to the living room, one shoulder resting against the wall in some mocking casual pose. Tommy’s heart stops in his throat.</p><p>No lying.</p><p>“T-T-Tubbo,” he answers, choked. He keeps his phone unlocked and puts it on the table face-up, knowing Dream will want to read what’s being said.</p><p>“I thought we discussed my concerns with him already,” Dream points out, and he takes one languid step forward in the younger boy’s direction. Tommy flinches, and this time Dream picks up on it. “You shouldn’t have to worry, Tommy. I’m looking out for you. I’m a parental figure; I know what’s best.” His voice is steady and relaxed, and that’s what makes it petrifying.</p><p>“H-he...” Tommy takes a second to breathe, but gives up when it’s evident that’s not really possible. “He - he—”</p><p>“He’s wondering if you finally ‘got credit’ for your phone. He wants to know if I’m letting you come round this weekend,” Dream says, reading Tubbo’s message off of the screen. F— frick. How could Tommy forget this? He had one thing to ask, and even if the answer was no (which it would have been), he could’ve avoided this.</p><p>“Alright,” Dream says, dangerously low now, and he points the floor by his feet, “come here.”</p><p>Yeah, no.</p><p>Tommy scrambles to his feet, almost tripping over the leg of the sofa in his haste as he makes his way up the stairs. He faintly hears Dream sighing in disappointment before he slams his bedroom door shut behind him.</p><p>“You know the drill, Tommy,” Dream calls out, “you broke the rules.” When Tommy hears his guardian’s breathing through the wall, he removes his ear from the back of the door and backs away. Panicking, he turns his attention to his bed.</p><p>What’s the point of hiding? Tommy isn’t sure but it’s a fight or flight reaction, and he chose flight. He shimmies himself under the bed and tucks his arms into his chest, trying to keep quiet. He’s delaying the inevitable but that’s okay, because he just needs a moment, just a second to prepare himself for what’s to come—</p><p>The door clicks open.</p><p>Footsteps cut through the heavy silence and Dream’s boots appear in Tommy’s peripheral vision. They stop, facing him, and then there’s a shuffle as Dream bends down to rest his elbows on his knees. He’s not looking at Tommy, not yet; just waiting, thinking.</p><p>“Tommy,” says Dream sweetly, “if you come out from underneath the bed, I won’t hurt your face.”</p><p>‘I’ll just hurt the rest of you’ is what goes unsaid. Tommy clamps a hand over his mouth. Even if he wanted to, he’s frozen now; he couldn’t let himself move if he tried.</p><p>“I’ll give you to the count of three,” Dream announces and he sounds almost... elated? Excited? Does he enjoy punishing Tommy? Is that why Tommy’s here - to be a guinea pig for Dream’s sadistic intentions? “Remember you brought this on yourself. I gave you fair warning and you still think it’s a good idea to disobey me. One.” A pause. “Two...”</p><p>Tommy takes his hand away from his mouth with newfound urgency, and he starts to shuffle across the carpet where he lies, but it’s too late.</p><p>“Three.” Dream stretches an arm out underneath the bed and grabs his kid. The grip is forceful and bruising and Tommy stifles a yelp as he’s pulled out from his hiding spot. Dream smacks him across the lip without hesitation, sending Tommy sprawling across the bed.</p><p>Dream punches him, and yeah - that hurts. The adrenaline is already wearing off and pain comes in to replace it. The blow knocks him on the ear and for a moment his hearing is reduced to just a shrill ringing.</p><p>“D-D-Dr—” Tommy brings his hands up to his face to protect it from further battering but Dream has other plans. He yanks Tommy by the calves to the floor where he hits his head off of the soft carpet, but the movement still dazes him until he feels a boot connect with his stomach.</p><p>And it goes on, the punching and kicking. Tommy thinks he passes out at one point because he’s floating into nothingness, and when he comes back around, his eyesight isn’t working properly and there’s a hand on his neck, checking his pulse. Dream isn’t trying to kill him, then. It’s okay. He’s okay.</p><p>The hand moves to his face and gives him a little pat on the cheek. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a concussion; I only punched your head once.”</p><p>Tommy lets out a stream of gibberish which sounds muffled to his own ears, especially the one that got socked. He’s being pulled up into a sitting position, and he whines and tries to inhale with much difficulty, feeling the bruising developing across his torso already.</p><p>“I’ll be right back,” Dream mumbles. Tommy thinks he hears something else added on too, something about going ‘too far’. So Dream mustn’t have meant to hurt him this badly - he showed mercy, and Tommy is thankful for that.</p><p>Tommy must pass out again because he awakes to gentle jostling of his shoulder, and something wet and cold on his mouth, mixing with blood. A cloth, wiping at his split lip. He pries his eyes open.</p><p>“You’ll have to take tomorrow off school,” Dream instructs firmly, “don’t want anyone seeing you in this state. If you had just come out when I said, however, I would’ve left your face alone and you wouldn’t have to skip.” A pause. “You know what? Keep texting Tubbo, keep hanging out with him; see if I care. Just know it really does disappoint me, though, how much you refuse to listen after all I’ve done for you already.”</p><p>That cuts deeper than Dream’s ring on his cheek, and Tommy curls up on himself. His hands flex in and out of fists, and he desperately avoids his guardian’s eyes. This isn’t what he wanted. He’s angry. He’s fricking - he’s fucking angry (he can swear in his head if he wants because who’s going to know or stop him?). Dream’s manipulating him; Dream’s not a good foster parent, he’s evil—</p><p>No. No, he’s not evil. Tommy can still speak to and text Tubbo; it’s the small things in life he’s allowed that will make it bearable. Besides, he’s a teenager, and he only has a couple more years before he can just leave, and nobody will be in charge of him or hurting him because he’s been bad. Because at the end of the day, Dream must be acting this way for a reason.</p><p>“You can even go round to Tubbo’s this weekend, and I’ll give you money for an ice-cream,” Dream goes on, unbothered by Tommy’s lack of response. Maybe he’s just saying this because he feels he went ‘too far’ with Tommy and he’s trying to make it up to the kid to overcome his guilt. Maybe he worries people will get suspicious if Tommy isn’t allowed yet. Tommy thinks of all the things Mr Schlatt was saying, and he swallows thickly.</p><p>This must be the cycle, then. Tommy fucks up and does something that warrants punishment, and Dream feels bad for having to lecture him, and gives him a small favour in exchange.</p><p>Tommy can live with that, he thinks. He hopes. It’s predictable, right? Or it should be. “S-s-so-sorry,” he whispers. The words hurt in so many ways.</p><p>Through his blurred vision, he thinks Dream might be smiling.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Return Of Mint Choc Chip</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*This chapter is a certified Dream-free zone!*</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Technoblade is having what may be the worst shift of his life at Sleepy Boi’s Sweet Parlour, on this fine Sunday morning. Not only was it so freakishly cold the previous night that the frozen taps aren’t running water (this is a bit of a problem while working in a shop that relies on that sweet H2O to wash dishes, fill drinks, food prep and more), plus the issue with the really temperamental electrics making the till play up, but it’s the very fact he’s here at all that bothers him.</p><p>Techno is a university student, and sure, the majority of his student loan goes to frequent nights out with his trashy friends blowing half their savings on vodka redbulls and takeaways - but he usually has a little something left over to live properly on. He helps Phil with the rent when he can. Except this month he can’t, so here he is, feeling rather out of place. Techno does not do well in customer service.</p><p>Tommy does not do well with strangers.</p><p>Techno and Tommy are strangers. Tubbo is the bridge between them, and maybe if Wilbur were here things would be easier, but life loves to take the most inopportune moments to kick Tommy’s ass. Tommy thought maybe Phil would be manning the till today, or the other son, but Techno is a new face. And, admittedly, a scary-looking one.</p><p>Tommy’s had a good weekend so far, all things considered, so he doesn’t want this to be the thing that fucks— messes... it up. He can handle meeting new people; he’s not that screwed up in the head. Besides, a son of Phil - and one who works in a goddamn sweet shop - can’t be a bigger danger than the one he faces at home.</p><p>“Hi, Technoblade,” Tubbo greets the older man who grunts in response when they enter the shop. “Mint choc chip?” The boy whispers to Tommy then, nudging his side. The action is gentle but still makes the teen wince when his bruises from earlier in the week are agitated.</p><p>Tommy had a bit of a complex before agreeing to stay with Tubbo on the weekend. Dream had let him go in the end but it was almost like it was some sort of trick, like Tommy was supposed to say no of his own accord because of the fact he got practically beaten to a pulp. With Dream, it’s impossible to tell; he still can’t truly read the man. The only sensible conclusion he’s come to so far makes him nauseous, and he doesn’t want to admit it, but it might be (definitely) true: Dream likes to hurt him. He shakes the thought away.</p><p>Tommy doesn’t have a phone anymore - at least, not unless he’s at school, and even then it’s for emergency use only. Dream hid it away somewhere in the meantime and he’d be too nervous to handle it anyway. Dream called Tubbo’s parents and arranged for their get-together, and Tommy supposes this is how things will go now. In any case, he doesn’t mind too much if he gets to spend time with his friend.</p><p>Until this - ice-cream. Right. Part of their scheduled entertainment. Dream did say, shockingly, that he could come here again despite the underlying resentment to the family that work here. Tommy has learned, of course, not to question his guardian’s motives.</p><p>Tommy nods wordlessly at the flavour suggestion to Tubbo who takes his - Dream’s - money to hand to Techno. Tommy takes a proper look at Techno from behind Tubbo, eyeing up the tall, impassive man from a safe distance. He has pink hair tossed into a bun that doesn’t look like it’ll come unstuck anytime soon. He also looks like he’s never smiled for even the greatest moment of his life.</p><p>“Tommy will have a scoop of mint choc chip,” Tubbo declares.</p><p>“Would Tommy like that on a cone or in a tub?” Techno raises one eyebrow at Tubbo, wholeheartedly ignoring his friend. Tommy is both embarrassed and relieved for this.</p><p>“Cone?” Tubbo asks, turning briefly to Tommy for approval, and he nods shyly again.</p><p>“Wilbur didn’t mention you had a new friend,” Techno says to Tubbo, and then he adds on much to everyone’s surprise, “you chose the best flavour, kid.”</p><p>“It’s... it’s y-your—” ‘It’s your favourite’, Tommy tries to force out. He remembers this from last time he was here. Maybe they’ll get along if they have the same favourite ice-cream flavour.</p><p>“My favourite,” answers Techno plainly.</p><p>And then, as if in an interlude—</p><p>“It’s fucking baltic out there!” Phil barges in through the back door, his arms wrapped tightly around himself to preserve warmth, his skin tinged blue. He’s shivering more than Tommy thought was humanly possible, but it’s almost like the air in the shop gets warmer, because Tommy feels like, strangely, he can relax more now.</p><p>Phil pats Techno on the shoulder, muttering something about coming in on his day off to try his luck with the electrics again, and then he spots Tommy and Tubbo. His eyes light up and his voice goes slightly deeper and comical. “Ah, if it isn’t the least intimidating teenagers I’ve had the pleasure of meeting! How are you doing on this frigid day?”</p><p>“Very well, Good Sir,” Tubbo replies, tipping an imaginary hat. Techno pays them no mind, busying himself with the ice-cream.</p><p>“It’s Tommy, right? Sorry for the dramatic entrance; I didn’t dress for the weather.” Phil redirects his attention to Tommy, throwing his thin coat on a hook around the back before stopping in his tracks. “You had a bit of a fall, mate?”</p><p>Tommy pales somewhat drastically, thinking immediately of the marks that might still be on his face. He thought they would be faded by now, and his hair covers the worst bump by his ear. First Mr Schlatt notices, and now someone else? Dream only let him leave the house on the condition his injuries weren’t outwardly visible to others, being extra cautious.</p><p>Dream’s not stupid, but Tommy is panicking.</p><p>“I had the impression that most people stand on two legs,” Phil goes on with a slight chuckle, and it’s then that Tommy realises he’s pressed himself up against the front door and one of his feet has angled itself up onto the glass, trying to move as far away from the counter as possible.</p><p>It’s a joke. He doesn’t know.</p><p>Tommy is safe; he won’t be taken away from Dream and Tubbo. He blows out a breath and forces his leg down, and begs his body to relax its posture. There’s no danger here. “M-my leg’s f-fine,” he assures the man, wandering back over to the counter.</p><p>“You had me worried,” Phil jokes, but it still makes Tommy swallow nervously.</p><p>“Here you go,” Techno announces, handing Tommy his cone. Tommy barely suppresses a flinch as he didn’t expect the sudden movement. Techno watches him, and the look he’s given him reminds him of the one he received from Ranboo - curious, wary, soul-searching. He doesn’t like it.</p><p>He recalls that Techno is not Phil’s biological son, but rather he and Wilbur were adopted. Tommy wishes he could be adopted by someone like Phil. Phil gives him good vibes.</p><p>“Nutella for you, I presume?” Techno asks Tubbo who beams and nods enthusiastically.</p><p>“I meant to ask you boys something,” Phil speaks up, “we’re throwing a little anniversary party on Tuesday to celebrate five years of Sleepy Bois’, and you’re both invited if you’re interested?”</p><p>“On a school night?” Tubbo wrinkles his nose. Tommy silently shares the same concern.</p><p>“We’ll be done by ten,” Phil assures, but Tommy already knows this is far too late for Dream’s standards and he deflates (though getting his hopes up in the first place would be reckless in any case) (he’s lucky he’s here at all this weekend).</p><p>“I-I-I’m not sure...” Tommy’s voice is so hushed it goes unheard.</p><p>“We’ll think about it,” Tubbo replies nonchalantly, and Tommy has no doubt that Tubbo’s ultra-cool, modern, lenient parents will allow their child to participate in something that should be a normal social activity. Tommy will have no such luck. He could chance asking Dream about the possibility of going, but even that could get him in trouble.</p><p>“I c-can’t,” Tommy whispers to Tubbo, not wanting the others to hear his outright rejection in case they interpret it as being rude.</p><p>“Hmm. You have Wilbur’s number, don’t you? Could you text him closer to the time when you know for sure?” Tubbo asks Tommy. “But no pressure!”</p><p>Of course there’s pressure, Tommy whines internally to himself. There’s pressure to maintain appearances and keep Tubbo as a friend - because Tommy is so scared already of losing one of the few normal parts of his life. And Tubbo is sure to dump him at the earliest possible convenience if Tommy doesn’t blindly follow his lead, right?</p><p>Tommy doesn’t ‘have’ Wilbur’s number per se, but he still has it memorised. Dream would kill him if he knew even that tiny shred of information. It occurs to him that these people, with the exception of Tubbo, don’t even know that his foster parent is Dream. </p><p>Tommy brainstorms quickly. It’s a difficult choice to make: Tubbo’s friendship or his own safety? Maybe he can find a compromise. A plan starts to form in his mind, albeit an extremely perilous one.</p><p>“I’ll - I’ll text h-him,” Tommy promises. Tubbo smiles excitedly, obviously taking that as a ‘yes, I’ll come’. But Tommy is quick to shut this down just in case things don’t work out, and he speaks louder then so Techno and Phil can hear. “I-I-I’ll try my - my best to c-come.”</p><p>“Sweet. Oh, and I’m setting up a chocolate fountain for strawberries and marshmallows too!” Phil sighs wistfully to himself. “It’s gonna be fun. Wilbur and Techno are joining—”</p><p>“For a bit,” Techno snorts mostly to himself, clearly distracted by other plans for his Tuesday night.</p><p>“—I got Schlatt to agree as well, and Puffy.”</p><p>“Mr Schlatt?” Tubbo exclaims in disbelief, but then he backtracks. “Wait, no. There are lots of people with the name Schlatt. It couldn’t be—”</p><p>“Your English teacher? You bet. We go way back.”</p><p>“Who - who’s Puffy?” Tommy asks in attempts to change the subject. He’s feeling less and less sure of this knowing that now his goddamn teacher (and an unusually perceptive one at that) will be attending.</p><p>“This is getting a little weird, Philza,” Tubbo cuts in.</p><p>“Puffy is a speech therapist,” Phil chirps, ignoring Tubbo’s remark, “she’s a frequent customer - she likes to buy sweets in bulk for her patients.”</p><p>A speech therapist? Tommy’s attention is caught by this. Maybe he could persuade Dream to—</p><p>No. No, Dream won’t come with him to some sketchy ice-cream shop party with the Sleepy Bois just to meet a speech therapist for him - not on a school night, not ever. He said he’d look into it but Tommy can’t imagine these circumstances are agreeable.</p><p>Okay. Back to plan A.</p><p>*</p><p>Tommy texts Wilbur after they get back to Tubbo’s house and have devoured their ice-cream, using Tubbo’s phone. Their conversation goes a little something like this:</p><p>‘T: Hi it’s Tommy texting from Tubbo’s phone, do you remember me?’</p><p>‘Will: Sorry?’</p><p>‘T: With the stutter. I ordered the mint choc chip that one time.’</p><p>‘Will: Ah. Don’t you have your own phone, dude?’</p><p>‘T: About that. I only have a phone for school - Dream doesn’t let me keep one outside of that.’</p><p>‘Will: Dream?’</p><p>Shit. Tommy forgot about the fact Wilbur doesn’t know anything about him, and why would he? Tommy wipes a hand down his face, and glances nervously at Tubbo from where the kid is setting off some TNT in his Minecraft game, totally distracted.</p><p>‘Will: Anyway, what’s up?’</p><p>‘T: Do you have a car?’</p><p>‘Will: Yep. Need a getaway vehicle for a robbery or...?’</p><p>‘T: Ha. No. If it’s not too much trouble, I heard your dad was throwing a party on Tuesday and I was wondering if you’d pick me up?’</p><p>‘Will: Dream won’t drive you?’</p><p>‘T: No.’</p><p>‘Will: You’re sneaking out?’</p><p>‘T: Yes.’</p><p>‘Will: To a 32-year-old man’s ice-cream party?’</p><p>“W-Wilbur is - is a - a sarcastic arsehole,” Tommy scoffs to himself. Tubbo looks up from his game and gives Tommy a comical look in response, but it isn’t disagreeable. Tubbo knows the plan Tommy’s formed and is happy to lend his phone and his selective ignorance to the morals of it to help out.</p><p>‘T: You have no idea what Dream’s like.’</p><p>‘Will: On the contrary, I’ve heard plenty. Yes, I’ll pick you up. But how are we supposed to communicate on the night if you don’t have a phone on hand?’</p><p>‘T: I’ll get my phone back and text you from it. If you wouldn’t mind waiting round the corner from my place so Dream doesn’t see, that would be good.’</p><p>‘Will: Sure thing.’</p><p>Tommy breathes out slowly and hands Tubbo his phone back. The brunette boy raises one eyebrow expectantly and Tommy offers him a weak smile, letting him know everything’s in order. Tubbo pauses his game and claps his hands together in excitement.</p><p>“Tommy’s going to sneak ouuuuut,” Tubbo teases, making Tommy turn bashful and roll his eyes with playfulness.</p><p>“I-I want to g-go,” he explains defensively, “and - and there’s no w-way D-D-Dream would let - let me other-otherwise.”</p><p>“What if you get caught?” And is that concern in Tubbo’s tone?</p><p>Tommy blanches as he considers what would actually happen if Dream finds out about his intentions. He’ll have to be super careful, but he thinks it’s doable - Dream tends to leave him alone after dinner in his room and isn’t one to frequently check on him, trusting that Tommy will simply stay put. To be fair, he’d have no reason not to, until now. And now that he has a secure mode of transport to the parlour...</p><p>It’ll be worth the risk, right?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Pigs In The Kitchen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We have 1,000 kudos! Insane. Onto the party.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy flops onto his bed the second he gets home. He didn’t get much sleep at Tubbo’s, after all - the two of them stayed up most of the night chatting about mindless topics. There was a lot of giggling and swearing because Dream wasn’t around, but Tommy tended to avoid the topic of his foster parent all together until Tubbo got the message.</p><p>Dream knocks on his door politely before entering. Tommy breathes out a long sigh into his pillow, wanting to sleep the rest of the day away. “Did you have fun?” Dream asks, almost warily.</p><p>Tommy blinks his eyes open with reluctance and mumbles a ‘yeah’ in response. It’s only when Dream comes closer to his bed that he sits upright, the previous tension he’d almost forgotten about rearing its head around the older man.</p><p>“Nobody asked about this?” Dream puts a hand on Tommy’s head and brushes his hair behind his ear. Tommy certainly hadn’t forgotten the yellowish bruise that resided there. At least he doesn’t have any sort of hearing damage so it’s all good. He shakes his head. “Good.”</p><p>“C-can I—” He almost dares not to ask the question. “Can I-I go a-again? One d-day?”</p><p>“Hmm,” mutters Dream, humming mostly to himself, “if you’re good, I’ll consider it.”</p><p>Tommy is elated with the reply. He wasn’t expecting such lenience at all, and Dream is even smiling just a little bit, indicating his good mood. Tommy smiles back, forgetting about any prospects of sleep, wanting to remain awake while Dream is happy so maybe they can share some bonding time. Maybe they could watch TV together or cook like how a normal parent-child relationship would go, but he knows he shouldn’t get ahead of himself.</p><p>“Does it hurt?” Dream goes on. Little pinpricks of worry lace his tone, and Tommy thinks they sound real. “Are you feeling better?”</p><p>“It’s - it’s okay,” Tommy is quick to insist. Come to think of it, his torso is aching a tad. Dream puts a hand on his back and Tommy winces, and his foster parent’s lips thin into a grimace.</p><p>“I’ll run you a bath,” Dream suggests, though maybe it’s more of a demand. Tommy nods anyway, grateful. It won’t cure what’s been done to hurt him but he has a feeling if he objects, he’ll be sleeping in the garden again so he can remember what discomfort really feels like.</p><p>The bath is a nice level of scolding hot and Dream even went out and bought some fresh bubble bath while Tommy was at Tubbo’s. Tommy closes his eyes while he plays with the bubbles in peace. Dream even let him lock the door to have this time to himself. He never wants to get out.</p><p>Eventually, he has to stand in front of the mirror with a towel wrapped around his waist and stare down his torso. His ribs aren’t black anymore; the bruising is still fading. He’ll live. He reminds himself he didn’t not deserve it.</p><p>Back at school, time proceeds with much of a semblance of normality. Mr Schlatt doesn’t mention anything about the upcoming party he’s been invited to nor does he even so much as look weird at Tommy; maybe he sensed that Tommy would rather be left alone. Tommy doesn’t like when people stick their noses into his business and ask questions they won’t like the truthful answers to.</p><p>He spends his breaks and lunchtimes with Tubbo sitting at their favourite table, occasionally going up to visit Ranboo in the art department. The tall boy has made a bit of a mess of the place, opened tubes of acrylic paints scattered across his desk, half-finished canvases thrown behind his work area. Lately, he’s taken to charcoal, and he even offers to draw Tommy a portrait one day which Tommy thinks is very generous and cool. He wishes he could be talented in the arts, or in anything, really. He’s yet to find his niche.</p><p>Predictably, the more time he spends with his friends - particularly Tubbo - the more eager he is to put his plan into action for Tuesday. He isn’t very willing to admit he had a moment where he thought he would sway - Dream was being so unnecessarily kind and sweet to him, and he thought he would feel bad for going against his rules. The curfew, the lying... If he gets caught doing this, or afterwards, it’s going to be a massive deal. He doesn’t want to think of what might happen.</p><p>But he’s going. He’s going to text Wilbur, somehow (he’s still working on the logistics of that one), and he’s going to get picked up around the corner from home and have a fantastic night at Sleepy Bois’ Sweet Parlour. What could possibly go wrong?</p><p>*</p><p>After dinner on Tuesday, Tommy pretends he’s going to retire from the night. He’s had a pleasant day and he hasn’t even worried about Dream getting mad and hitting him because the guy’s been in such an impeccable mood. Once again, he feels a twang of guilt for what he’s about to do, but for the sake of his friendship with Tubbo, and curiosity about the eccentric family who run the ice-cream place, he finally puts his plan into action.</p><p>Dream is typing away at his laptop at the kitchen table, clearly working late as Tommy sneaks into the man’s bedroom. He leaves it unlocked, and this is the first time Tommy’s actually seen it. The walls are pale green and the curtains are drawn, letting light from the setting sun creep in. The decor is minimalistic and it smells like fresh washing powder. Tommy creeps along the floor, thankful it’s carpeted to muffle his footsteps, and starts raking through Dream’s belongings.</p><p>He’s careful to put everything back exactly where he found it, and he’s extremely quiet in doing so as well. In the bottom drawer of his cabinet, under a pile of paperwork, is Tommy’s phone. Tommy grins to himself as he pulls it out and switches it on. He’s got a few previous texts from Tubbo that can be ignored since they’re out of date now. He deletes them in case Dream snoops through his messages.</p><p>He sneaks back into his room, typing in Wilbur’s number that he’s still got memorised so he can text him.</p><p>‘Big T: It’s Tommy again. Everything’s sorted, when can you pick me up?’</p><p>‘Wilbur: I’ll swing by around 8pm. Look for the beat-up Toyota.’</p><p>8pm. It’s a chilling thought considering Tommy’s curfew is nine (not that he’s had to think about that until now).</p><p>‘Wilbur: You sure this is okay?’</p><p>It’s not okay, and they both know it. Knowing Dream’s parenting standards, they both understand Tommy would be skinned alive if he’s caught even texting Wilbur, never mind sneaking out to a party with him. Wilbur, however, might not fully understand the seriousness of Tommy’s punishment were he to get caught.</p><p>‘Big T: Don’t worry about me. I’ll see you at 8pm.’</p><p>He sends another text with his address on it and a reminder to park around the corner where the beam of the headlights won’t be so obvious. He deletes the conversation thus far once again, just in case.</p><p>It’s exactly five minutes until eight when Tommy starts making his great escape. He’s heard Dream go into his room where he’ll likely stay for the night, the door clicking shut. He can see the light from the hallway under his door. Tommy opens his own door with painful slowness, praying it doesn’t creak. He supposes he can always say he’s going to the bathroom at this stage... with his shoes on, dressed a little nicer than usual.</p><p>He even prepared a bundle of clothes and pillows to shove under his duvet, shaping the items carefully so they look like the vague shape of a sleeping body. Hopefully, Dream won’t think twice about that. Dream probably won’t even come to check on him; he hasn’t before.</p><p>The front door is a little louder than his own so he bites his lip as it opens. He pauses for a split second to listen out for any movement on the floor above, but there’s only the blissful sound of silence. Tommy shuts the door and starts half-jogging across the front garden.</p><p>Around the corner, about four houses down the side street, there’s a Corolla parked on the double yellow lines, purring disjointedly. Tommy squints to make sure it’s Wilbur in the driver’s seat, and he beams when he sees the almost-familiar face hidden under a mop of brown curls and a beanie. Tommy taps the glass on the shotgun window before he clambers in.</p><p>“Oh, you made it!” Wilbur exclaims. “I was expecting a view of Dream dragging you back by the ear.” Tommy winces in the dark. “But I guess I wouldn’t get to see it since we’re undercover.”</p><p>Tommy puts on his seatbelt as they start driving. His heart is thumping in his chest but mostly from happy adrenaline rather than anxiousness. He made it out; now his only worry is returning at a reasonable time since, as Tubbo mentioned earlier, it is a school night. “Th-thanks f-for-for this.”</p><p>“No problem,” Wilbur says dismissively, “oh, and I’m sorry for making fun of your stutter before. I thought you were doing it deliberately to piss me off or something.”</p><p>Tommy bites back a laugh. “I - I wish.”</p><p>“I’ll run you back whenever you want,” Wilbur explains, “but I’m designated driver for Phil as well so give me a text if I’m not around. Sound good?”</p><p>Tommy nods affirmatively then he catches sight of something peculiar on the car’s dashboard. “What - what’s this?” He reaches forward to inspect what looks like a stuffed animal.</p><p>“Don’t touch him!” Wilbur shoots out a hand and Tommy immediately draws back somewhat fearfully. The older boy doesn’t notice, too preoccupied with moving the random object to sit on his lap. It appears to be a blue sheep. “That’s Friend. He’s the only thing my biological parents left me.”</p><p>Tommy has to suppress a wince. He didn’t mean to force Wilbur into talking about his family history. God knows he wouldn’t want to talk about his either. “S-so-sorry.”</p><p>“It’s okay. Don’t take it personally; even Techno’s not allowed to mess with him. I’ll allow Phil to move him about if he’s cleaning but, you know.” Wilbur shrugs. “It’s one of those things.”</p><p>One of those things, Tommy realises, that is personal to him and probably unexplainable to others. He doesn’t pry, wanting to remain respectful. Still, he’s a little jealous that Wilbur even has anything from his biological parents at all; a possession that means something dear to him, too. Tommy doesn’t have such luxuries.</p><p>They pull up outside the shop and Tommy is thoroughly impressed at the effort that’s gone into the exterior decor alone. There are battery-powered fairy lights hung around the door and window panels, glittering in and out of splendour. There’s a sign on the door that’s been handcrafted with intricate artwork and fancy handwriting, inviting them inside for the five-year anniversary party.</p><p>“Phil will be happy to see you,” Wilbur mentions as he gets out the car, “any friend of Tubbo’s is a friend of his. And of mine, by the way!”</p><p>Tommy is relieved by this statement. He knows it’s probably weird to be friends with someone who is quite a bit older than him at the end of the day (maybe Dream is right about some things) (no - he’s right about everything) but he can’t help himself. Tommy’s never had friends in his life before now.</p><p>“Tommy!” Phil’s greeting is long and drawn-out, perhaps overly-cheerful. When Tommy spots the flute of champagne in one of his hands, he figures that explains it. Surprisingly, Phil pulls him into a hug. “Did your parents drive you?”</p><p>Tommy coughs and chuckles awkwardly, his eyes scanning the room for Tubbo, his one sense of comfort at the moment. He doesn’t want to be overwhelmed considering there are quite a few strangers in the shop, and some of them are looking at him. “W-Will gave - gave me a - a l-lift.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“He lives with Dream,” Wilbur explains, and if Tommy didn’t know better, he’d say the tall boy just rolled his eyes a fraction at the name.</p><p>“Oh.” Phil is less than enthusiastic now. “Aw, mate, I had no idea. Are you... are you doing alright?”</p><p>“I-I’m fine,” stammers Tommy, confused. Why does everyone have it out for Dream? Is Phil disappointed in the same way Mr Schlatt was? Is it all down to work-related stuff?</p><p>“Are you two actually related?” Wilbur asks suddenly.</p><p>“N-no,” Tommy answers, watching as Phil nudges his son in the side and blinks slowly as if to warn him not to get so personal. But Tommy doesn’t mind, yet. “He - he, uh, he’s fostering m-m-me.”</p><p>“Fostering?” asks Wilbur. “Or adopting?”</p><p>Tommy forgets sometimes there’s a difference. He’s pretty sure he falsely told Tubbo already that it was full-on adoption. “J-j-just fostering.”</p><p>“So you can still run if you have to,” Phil blurts out nervously. The champagne in his glass swishes back and forth and Tommy swallows around nothing. There’s definitely something he’s not catching onto but he tries not to worry about it.</p><p>Shortly behind them, Mr Schlatt arrives with a woman Tommy doesn’t recognise. He stands by the wall while they take off their jackets and beam at everyone around them, not noticing his presence yet. Maybe this is Mr Schlatt’s wife; they can’t be too far apart in age. At last, her attention lands on Tommy, and she comes towards him with a friendly smile.</p><p>“You look new here,” she says, “and nervous!”</p><p>“I-I’m T-Tommy,” Tommy introduces himself. He’s eternally glad she doesn’t offer her hand to shake because his palms are sweaty and he’s too busy playing with his nails to greet someone formally.</p><p>“Puffy,” she chirps, “Mr Schlatt’s neighbour - oh, but if you don’t know him already—”</p><p>“I-I-I do,” he cuts in, but then immediately after he cringes at himself. It’s rude to interrupt people. Puffy doesn’t seem to notice or mind, however. “He’s - he’s m-my-my-my—” Fucking stammer. “He’s m-my English t-teacher.”</p><p>“Are you nervous?” Puffy asks, frowning slightly. “It’s alright if you are. I used to hate big crowds. And I hope you don’t mind me bringing this up, Tommy, but I notice you seem to have a speech impediment. I’m a speech therapist, you know!”</p><p>He almost forgot about that. Phil had mentioned something about her, and her occupation. He had even considered asking Dream about that to gently remind him (the man had said they would look into getting him therapy, but Tommy reckons he’s forgotten).</p><p>“Y-yeah,” Tommy confirms reluctantly, “for - for as l-long as I - as I can r-remember.”</p><p>“Have you even considered...?” Puffy trails off, letting Tommy fill in the blanks. Tommy understands immediately even before she pulls out a business card with her name and contact details on it. “Keep it, just in case. I’m not being forward, am I?”</p><p>“N-no!” Tommy rushes out. He pockets the card, secretly glad to have it.</p><p>“Well, I think you look darling in that shirt,” she continues enthusiastically, swiftly changing the topic and gesturing to Tommy’s white and red top, “and you come across as very approachable, and eloquent. I suppose you’d have to be to get stuck with Mr Schlatt’s class.”</p><p>Tommy is bashful at the praise, but he feels relaxed around Puffy already. Maybe it’s the fact she’s a woman, or her kind words, but he senses there’s no danger. “Th-thank - thank you.”</p><p>Mr Schlatt wanders over and seems shocked to see one of his students in attendance at the party. “Tommy,” he says, “I didn’t realise you knew Phil.”</p><p>“Not - not s-so well,” Tommy admits. Once again, he’s subtly looking around for Tubbo. Where is his friend when he needs him? There are suddenly too many people crowding him, and—</p><p>“Tommy!” Tubbo’s familiar voice cuts through the noise of the shop and Tommy exhales in relief. The kid comes bouncing up to him but doesn’t hug him, having already caught onto the fact that Tommy can be a bit claustrophobic in settings like these. “Was wondering when you’d show up, big man.”</p><p>Mr Schlatt and Puffy say their goodbyes before they go to mingle with the other adults at the party, leaving Tommy and Tubbo alone. “Wh-where’s the chocolate fountain?”</p><p>“It’s around the back,” Tubbo answers, nodding to behind the ice-cream counter. Sure enough, in all its glory is a beautiful-looking waterfall of constant melted chocolate. Tommy’s mouth waters and he remembers Dream didn’t make a lot of food for dinner, and he’s not allowed to take extra snacks without asking. His stomach grumbles.</p><p>“M-marshmallows?” Tommy asks hopefully. Tubbo grins and directs him to a pile of squishy sweets all stabbed neatly with wooden sticks. Tommy takes one gingerly and holds it under the flowing chocolate. He’s only seen this sort of thing in movies before.</p><p>“Pretty cool, huh?” Tubbo has taken a strawberry to do the same thing and soon there’s chocolate dripping from his chin. Tommy snickers as he points this out. “I know, I’m making a mess. But that’s what parties are for!” Once he’s finished his first strawberry, he leans in to whisper dramatically, “Did the plan go accordingly?”</p><p>Tommy replies in an equally hushed tone. “Yeah. He - Dream - he doesn’t know I’m here.”</p><p>“Awesome. I wish my parents would let me be rebellious.”</p><p>Tommy frowns at the mere ridiculousness of that statement. “I don’t think y-you do.”</p><p>“Hey,” Tubbo says all of a sudden, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but your stutter calms down when you talk to me. Am I, like, special or something?” His tone is teasing but also flattered.</p><p>“Oh.” Tommy is hit by the realisation that it’s true. “I - I guess so.”</p><p>“Should I psychoanalyse you?”</p><p>“N— Please don’t,” Tommy huffs back in good humour.</p><p>The crowds around them part and seem to divide their attention between each other and the front door which swings open with over-the-top enthusiasm. Tommy, being of decent height, is able to see over a lot of the people to check who’s just crashed the party. It’s Technoblade.</p><p>Techno is swaying a bit, and he’s holding a flask. Tommy bristles, feeling more than uncomfortable. Is it too much to ask for one sober adult at this function? He supposes he has Wilbur to turn to if all else fails. Besides, alcohol isn’t an entirely awful thing - unless Techno’s one of those people who becomes worse because of it. Tommy hopes the guy doesn’t have a temper.</p><p>Phil is taking his coat at the door and smiling big, too tipsy himself to notice or care about Techno’s intoxication. Tommy hears something about a ‘flat party’ that’s happening later, signalling Techno is only dropping by for a little while. Right. Techno will have his own life to get back to. Tommy sees Phil’s face contort in disappointment just a bit at this revelation, and for some reason it makes him mad.</p><p>“I’m gonna go find Will,” Tubbo announces, “you should say hi to Technoblade! I know he looks scary but—”</p><p>“Sooooo,” Techno drawls, marching straight up to the pair of them and leaning in towards Tommy, his eyes narrowed in something between suspicion and curiosity. Tommy resists the urge to back away, quite overwhelmed by the smell of spirits on the pink-haired man’s breath. “I heard you’ve been shacking up with Dream.”</p><p>Tubbo pats Tommy sympathetically on the shoulder and a noise dies at the back of Tommy’s throat, less than eager to be left alone with a guy who’s practically still a stranger. Tubbo slips away to chase after Wilbur, leaving Tommy alone with his new, drunk companion.</p><p>“Y-y-yeah,” Tommy confirms, and then with more vigour, “what - what of it, b-bitch?”</p><p>Techno, perhaps to both of their amusement, barks out a low laugh. “Oh, man. What if he could hear you now? Something tells me he’s not the swearing type...”</p><p>Tommy doesn’t let the words get to him. “I know - I know y-you d-d-don’t like him—”</p><p>“That’s an understatement,” Techno snorts. His voice is slurred but still intelligible. “Surely you must have heard some things by now and, uh - they’re not just rumours, by the way.”</p><p>“I-I know about h-his position - his position on the c-council,” Tommy says warily.</p><p>“Past tense,” Techno reminds him, “before he got fired.” Right. “Well-deservedly, of course. Dude thinks corporal punishment was acceptable. Of course, that wasn’t gonna get past anyone, as convincing as he can be.”</p><p>“Why - why did they f-fire h-him?”</p><p>“You can thank Phil for that one,” Techno says proudly, “they got into a little public brawl. I tried to get involved, even got a hit in. At this point, he’d already threatened Wilbur when he was a teenager for making a ruckus outside his house - done on purpose, of course - but the kid just kept going back to piss him off. And then there was the whole thing with his ex.”</p><p>“His - his ex?”</p><p>“There was a court case a few years back; abuse allegations. Dream had wormed his way into the judge’s good graces, though. If he hadn’t, I very much doubt you’d be here.”</p><p>“H-he’s a good - a good person.” Tommy remembers saying the same thing to Mr Schlatt. He reckons he believed it more back then than he does now. Or is possible that this is all made up for Technoblade’s amusement? No. The abuse ‘allegations’ could very much be real.</p><p>“Nah,” is all Techno says, shaking his head, “he’s really not, Tommy.” Tommy feels a chill run down his nerves at this. The man seems so serious, so set in his opinions, so honest.</p><p>Phil literally pops his head into the conversation, his hands absent of the celebratory champagne he was seen with earlier. His cheeks are tinged pink and his gaze is unfocused, but Tommy finds himself thinking it’s more comical than threatening. “Are you enjoying yourself, Toms?” he asks.</p><p>Tommy has to smile a tad at the nickname. “Y-yes, thanks.”</p><p>“We were just talking about Dream,” Techno scowls, sneering the man’s name with contempt and putting a damper on Tommy’s newfound good mood.</p><p>He watches Phil’s eyebrows raise then lower in perfect synchronisation. “I don’t want to overstep boundaries here but our home is always open, mate. If Dream is... if he’s difficult...”</p><p>“Thanks b-but - but it’s okay,” Tommy insists, not wanting to be that pathetic little boy who seeks refuge in a place he thinks he’s not actually welcome, “Dream’s r-really okay.” He ignores the look he gets from Technoblade at this, the soft mutters of ‘one day’ and ‘inevitability’.</p><p>“If you’re sure,” Phil hums with uncertain finality, sensing Tommy’s reluctance to continue the conversation.</p><p>“I—” Tommy takes his phone from his pocket to check the time, and pales considerably. “Phil, y-you said we’d be done b-by, uh, ten?”</p><p>“Oh, what is the time?” Phil looks around, presumably hunting for a clock or someone to tell him, and Tommy informs him it’s almost eleven. He isn’t sure where the time has gone, but his conversations with people have been lasting a while. “That’s pretty late. I don’t want to keep you. If you want to go, I’m sure Will is—”</p><p>“I just saw him leave with Tubbo,” Techno mumbles, “kid looked like he needed his bed; he was practically hanging off of Will. Was probably giving him a lift home.”</p><p>Tommy is hyperaware that he should be getting back so he isn’t cranky for school in the morning, and - of course - the longer he stays out, the longer he worries that Dream will notice his absence. “He won’t - he won’t be l-long, right?”</p><p>“Tubbo doesn’t live far,” Phil assures him.</p><p>So Tommy waits. He supposes he could ask around for other sober people who would be willing to drive him back, but upon close inspection, it looks like everybody is nursing a glass of wine or a cider. He’ll have to rely on Wilbur but it’ll be fine as long as the guy hurries the hell up.</p><p>When half an hour has passed and Tommy can’t keep from biting his nails anymore (and he can’t face the chocolate fountain without fear of projectile vomiting in his nervousness), he texts Wilbur. He doesn’t expect a reply since the older boy will be driving, but it’s worth a shot.</p><p>‘Big T: Are you good to drive me home when you’re back?’</p><p>‘Wilbur: Sure, I’m just stopping for petrol now. Will be fifteen mins!’</p><p>‘Big T: Can it wait? Dream’s really strict and I don’t want him to notice I’m gone.’</p><p>‘Wilbur: I’m sure it’ll be fine, dude. I’ll be back ASAP.’</p><p>‘Big T: If you get me into trouble, I’ll end you.’</p><p>Tommy realises this sounds like an active threat and he cringes internally. He’s hasty to type in a reply that backtracks and explains his urgency.</p><p>‘Big T: I’m starting to think you guys are right about him. He’s not the best guardian.’</p><p>He doesn’t receive a reply but a little ‘read’ note indicates his text has gone through. Maybe Wilbur is contemplating too hard, or maybe he’s just started driving again. Tommy blows out a breath and leans on a counter, pocketing his phone again.</p><p>Wilbur is true to his word and does show up as soon as possible. He nods at Tommy, his car keys dangling from one pinky. Tommy bids his farewells to the people at the party he’s come to know, especially keen to thank Phil for letting him attend. Inside the Toyota is warm, a comforting contrast from the outside world.</p><p>“You had a good time tonight?” Wilbur asks when they park in the same vaguely-illegal place they started off in, round the corner from Dream’s house. Tommy nods, sure of himself. Some of the conversations he had challenged him, but not in a tragic way. Wilbur looks pleased. “You’re welcome anytime, you know. You’ve got my number if, uh...”</p><p>“Dream’s - he’s fine,” Tommy insists, and his tone is bordering on defensive now, “he - he took m-me in when I - I had nobody. If it - it weren’t f-for him, I’d be...” He doesn’t know what or where he’d be. He just knows he should be grateful. He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence but Wilbur exhales, dropping the subject, seeming to understand at least a little where Tommy’s coming from.</p><p>“Well, goodnight.” The older boy fiddles with Friend who is still perched on his lap. The blue fur looks soft and Tommy is once again jealous, not at all thinking it’s unusual that a fully-grown man in his twenties is so attached to what’s typically a child’s toy. It’s one of those things, he supposes, thinking back to what Wilbur said earlier. He doesn’t presume to know what Wilbur has gone through, anyway.</p><p>He thanks Wilbur for the lift and goes to sneak back inside his house. The lights are all off, including the one in the upstairs hallway which was previously switched on. Tommy doesn’t think much of it, simply crossing his fingers that Dream bought the poor excuse for a humanoid model Tommy made out of his pillows and clothes. He tiptoes into his room and face-plants onto his bed.</p><p>There’s not a single noise in the house; no sign of Dream stirring in his sleep. Tommy will need to put his phone back in his guardian’s drawer when he gets the chance but for now, he lets his heartbeat slow into a regular, steady rhythm, convinced that he’ll be okay.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Crashing, Crushed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Dream is evil. Sorry in advance.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“How did you sleep, Tommy?” Dream’s chirpy voice floats through the household when Tommy comes down the stairs the next morning. He’s careful to take quiet steps and not draw too much attention to himself. Dream sounds like he’s still in a good mood and Tommy wouldn’t want to do anything to change that.</p><p>“I-I slept o-okay,” he answers honestly. He’s still in shock he managed to get away with all he did last night, but it eased his mind that Dream didn’t notice and overall he had a good time, so he really slept like a baby. He’s not even that tired, so going to school should be easy.</p><p>He goes through to the kitchen to see Dream sitting on the tiles by a toolbox, holding a cupboard door in his hands. Tommy shifts his weight from foot to foot, not really paying attention to what’s happening with this random cupboard or why Dream is DIYing so early in the morning. He’s just in here to say good morning before he starts to get ready for school.</p><p>“Phone,” Dream says, not taking his focus away from the joinery, holding out one hand behind him expectantly.</p><p>Tommy freezes. He forgot to put it back in Dream’s room after using it last night. He didn’t get the opportunity but he didn’t think - he didn’t - he—</p><p>“You think I didn’t notice it was missing?” Dream tuts disapprovingly. “I wouldn’t keep me waiting.” Still, he doesn’t sound too mad. Shit. Tommy backs away to go to his room to retrieve the device.</p><p>He’s pretty sure he doesn’t breathe the entire time until he’s back in the kitchen and giving Dream his phone.</p><p>“Who have you been texting?” Dream asks nonchalantly when he flicks to the messages app.</p><p>Tommy has never gone so pale in his life. The texts. Fucking fuck, the texts are still on there - he forgot to delete them, he—</p><p>“Tommy?” Dream drags out his name as he finally puts down the cupboard door. His undivided attention is on the texts on the screen, his unfiltered communication with Wilbur.</p><p>“I-I—” He clams up and doesn’t manage to finish the sentence, whatever it was going to be.</p><p>“‘Dream’s really strict and I don’t want him to notice I’m gone’,” Dream recites without even a hint of hurt in his voice, because he does so well in masking his emotions, “11:23pm. Then 11:25pm, ‘I’m starting to think you guys are right about him. He’s not the best guardian.’”</p><p>“D-Dr-Dre-Dream,” Tommy stammers hopelessly. What can he say? He knows he’s fucked up; he doesn’t need Dream to tell him that. Usually, it’s like tiptoeing around broken glass when it comes to the man because you never know what’s going to set him off, but this is like cutting your foot on the biggest piece. It’s so obvious, it hurts already.</p><p>Dream will know. He’ll have to know now and there’s nothing Tommy can say or do to defend himself.</p><p>“Did you sneak out last night?”</p><p>Tommy nods. There’s no use in denying it and going against Dream’s rule regarding lying.</p><p>“Tell me where.”</p><p>He can’t bring himself to speak.</p><p>“Tell me where, Tommy.” Dream’s hand has clenched but it quickly unclenches upon his guardian seeing the way Tommy takes a step back in caution.</p><p>“There—” He chokes on his own spit, or air, or fear, and tries again with slightly better luck. “There w-was a - there was a - a party. At - at Sleepy B-Bois’.”</p><p>“How did you get there?”</p><p>“Will - Wilb-Wilbur drove me,” Tommy whispers. He wants to shut his eyes and block this all out and disappear. The nervousness is eating him alive and is almost worse than the punishment he knows is impending.</p><p>Dream lets the disappointment seep into his tone after that, and switches the topic so he can guilttrip the teenager. “Anything could have happened, you know. You could have been kidnapped; you could have been hurt. I warned you about that family, about Wilbur.”</p><p>Once again, Tommy says nothing in response. He doesn’t even have the mind to think Dream’s words are manipulative and toxic and ironic as hell. He briefly wonders about Dream’s ex, and of Wilbur dancing past his street in the early hours of the morning just to irk the man.</p><p>“And you don’t think I’m doing a good job fostering you, Tommy? I thought you loved having your own room, your own bed. I keep you fed and warm and send you to school and let you spend the weekend with Tubbo, and have your own phone because I thought I could trust you with it, and this is how you repay me? I didn’t have to take you in, you know. I could send you back; you’d never see these people again.”</p><p>“... P-Please—”</p><p>“Do you want me to send you back?” Dream asks plainly. Tommy tries to breathe normally but it’s becoming increasingly difficult. Dream notices he’s worked himself into a panic too much to respond audibly so he tags on, “There are some fucking evil people out there, Tommy.”</p><p>Dream never swears. In fact, this is the first time Tommy has heard such a word from the guy. Technoblade mentioned something akin to that. He doesn’t even get the chance to be taken aback by this fact before the one-sided conversation moves forward.</p><p>“I’ve had a good morning, thanks for asking,” Dream says suddenly with a hint of sarcasm and a poorly-hidden snort, and he’s just saying that to make Tommy feel worse, because this is the calm before the storm. He’s not angry yet, but he’s never really angry, just disappointed. Just willing to discipline Tommy when he’s done something wrong, to teach him a lesson. “I thought I’d do some repairs around the house, start bright and early. Can you pass me the hammer?”</p><p>Tommy does as he’s asked without much hesitation. He doesn’t know what Dream needs the hammer for because he’s only fitting the door on with some screws, and you don’t need a hammer for that. Hammers are for nails, aren’t they?</p><p>“Maybe you can hold this up for me.” Dream nods to the unhinged door and Tommy obeys by holding it up to its slot in the cupboard. There are no nails. Dream holds the hammer and Tommy doesn’t miss the way his knuckles flex white around the handle. “Thank you. We make a good team.”</p><p>There are no nails.</p><p>Oh, fucking mother of—</p><p>The hammer comes down on Tommy’s hand.</p><p>Tommy’s aware his lungs aren’t working because he’s taken a deep breath but there’s no air, and he can feel his chest restricting like a deflated balloon, shrivelled up and dying, nothing left. And then he stutters out a breath and the black spots at the corners of his vision take over.</p><p>The bliss of unconsciousness is short lived. Dream cups his face with a large palm and when he opens his eyes again, there’s a thick sheen of unshed tears in his eyes. And then he feels the pain, and it comes all at once, spreading up his whole arm like the aftermath of a particularly bad electric shock, except this is so much worse.</p><p>All the noises Tommy kept back start coming out. He would be embarrassed under any other circumstances. He feels like he’s going to die, it hurts so bad. The tears fall of their own accord, more from shock than anything else. He hears his own heartbeat drumming in his ears.</p><p>“Alright,” Dream says, blowing out a breath of his own like this was such an exhausting feat for him too, “alright, Tommy. Take it easy.”</p><p>Tommy makes another noise in the back of his throat; he thinks he’s trying to talk but he can’t force the words out.</p><p>“You’ll forgive me,” Dream says easily, dismissing the silence, “it’s just gonna suck for a while, but you’ll understand, and you’ll forgive me.”</p><p>No writing. No holding. No moving. It’s his dominant hand. It’s broken, maybe beyond repair. Certainly no texting. No showing others the physical consequences for his stupid, reckless actions last night.</p><p>Tommy tries to reach out and grab the shaking expanse of his arm but before his good hand wraps around the limb, Dream puts a gentle hand on his shoulder which effectively makes him stop in his tracks.</p><p>“You don’t want to touch that,” he explains softly, in a cooing tone, like he’s telling a baby to stay away from the candy jar. Slow and deliberate and taunting. “I’m going to get the first aid kit,” Dream supplies after another moment’s silence.</p><p>Tommy falls onto his back on the floor. First aid kit; how kind. It feels like the world is ending and he’ll just lie here forever, sick with his own pain, but there’s Dream, getting up to rummage through the cupboards for medical supplies. The doors opening and shutting register somewhere in the back of Tommy’s mind.</p><p>Once there was a kid, one of his foster brothers, who pushed him halfway down a flight of stairs. He was perhaps eight years old and he wailed like a little baby until his foster mother stood at the bedroom doorframe with her hands on her hips, shaking her head. He wasn’t offered a helping hand, and he had to stop sniffling and pick himself off the ground, and deal with it. This time, he’s hurt, and someone is helping him.</p><p>Dream’s helping him. Dream’s showing him mercy. Dream’s a good person.</p><p>Dream comes back with a first aid kit as promised. Tommy could choke on his relief because if there’s one thing he can’t stand above anything else, it’s deceit. Dream always delivers on his promises. Tommy sits up all wobbly and unstable, and pulsing with pain, and his head finds itself unceremoniously tucked into Dream’s chest without much of an explanation.</p><p>“I know, I know,” Dream sighs, stopping for a second to touch Tommy’s head. Tommy closes his eyes when Dream runs a hand through his hair, despite the fact he can’t feel it because it’s like all other physical sensations have been blocked out. He wants to faint again. “Can I see your hand, please?” Cautious and sweet.</p><p>He doesn’t want to look at the injury site. He raises his mangled hand and blinks fast. Dream catches on and says, “Don’t look.”</p><p>Dream touches his hand.</p><p>This time Tommy is screaming, so loud he might as well burst his own eardrums, and he doesn’t care that Dream might scream back at him for being so piercingly loud because it’s agony. He wants the neighbours to hear; he wants Tubbo to hear. Dream is quiet, starting to treat his hand, and Tommy screams until his voice is hoarse and he thinks he may never speak again. Then it’s loud, ugly sobs, and he would take being pushed down a thousand flights of stairs over this.</p><p>‘He’s helping you.’ One side of Tommy’s brain is calm and reasonable, something solid to hold onto through the process. Tommy might hate to admit it but his inner thoughts never lie, so they? Nobody ever helps him, and he should count his blessings, and he should thank Dream, and—</p><p>“Sorrysorrysorry—” That’s him speaking, desperately trying to get something across to his foster parent. His voice feels detached from his body. “Imsorryimsorry—”</p><p>“It’s okay, Tommy. In a month or two, your hand will be as good as new. It’s all done, see?”</p><p>Tommy dares to open his eyes and is surprised to see his bad hand is all wrapped up. He draws it back carefully from Dream’s hold and bends his elbow to his chest.</p><p>“You want a hug?” asks Dream expectantly, like the question is a test and Tommy should frantically nod his head and agree. But upon closer inspection, Tommy knows that look in Dream’s eyes - calm satisfaction, victory. He likes hurting Tommy - no, no, he does it for Tommy’s own good. He’s helped Tommy, he’s good.</p><p>Tommy doesn’t want a hug and he likes to think he knows Dream well enough to judge that he won’t be angry when Tommy refuses. Tommy stays silent and stares into his lap.</p><p>‘A month or two’ for his hand to heal; he doesn’t know if that’s just a guess on Dream’s part or if he secretly planned this. If it’s the latter, it’s not entirely shocking. But Dream isn’t stupid, and he’ll know that something as bad as this will get people asking questions, and he might have to go to hospital if it doesn’t set right.</p><p>“I’ll take your phone away, from school hours too,” Dream tells him as a statement, not a request, “you can tell Tubbo when you go back that you lost it or you broke it, whichever you want. Or I can send you back and you’ll never speak to him again, or any of your other ‘friends’.”</p><p>“N-n-n—” No, please, he’s trying to say. He can’t speak again and he huffs out a breath of frustration that his voice is betraying him. It’s like the connection between his brain and his mouth has snapped. He wants Dream to know he’d take anything over being sent back because he has friends here and besides, Dream’s right - there are people much worse than him. He cringes internally at the thought.</p><p>He’s not coherent enough to think to the time in the future when he’ll have to explain what happened to his hand - a flurry of possible excuses flicker through his head but he can’t pinpoint any of them. Maybe Dream will give him a script. That would be easy. He leans his head against the bottom of the fridge.</p><p>“Come on,” says Dream softly, “you look like you need some more sleep. I’ll give you painkillers when you wake up.”</p><p>Maybe his legs have stopped working too, because he doesn’t remember getting to his feet, but the next thing he knows he’s being laid down on his bed. His bed; just his. Not safe, but at least warm.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Patches</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The first half of this chapter is rough. The second half, however...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy lies in bed for what feels like days, and probably is days. His hand, mangled and unusable, stays hidden under the cover of his duvet, wrapped up but still something he doesn’t want to look at. In fact, he can barely look at anything, his vision hazy from the constant throbbing agony that is only periodically relieved by strong painkillers.</p><p>Dream brings him three meals a day; more than he thought he would deserve. Sometimes the man shows up just to talk to him, just to tell him everything’s going to be okay, and to smooth out his hair from his eyes, sweaty and dirty. He hasn’t showered in a while. He doesn’t think he could get up and manage such a thing.</p><p>Maybe a bath would be okay. Dream tries to persuade him to take one on - what, the sixth day? He hasn’t been to school in over a week and the excuse of a ‘fever’ isn’t too far-fetched at this point considering he feels sick from his injury. More frequently than not, Dream has had to dab away the sweat from his forehead before it soaked into the pillow beneath his face.</p><p>“I’ll help you to the bath, Tommy,” Dream offers, and Tommy thinks for a split second he hears concern in that voice, worry for the current state he’s in, but it must not be possible after all that’s happened - right? “You need to start moving around.”</p><p>Tommy tries to insist he needs a hospital more than anything else at the moment because of his rapidly deteriorating condition, but the words die in his throat. He hasn’t spoken much in the last week.</p><p>“Come on.” Dream tries somewhat impatiently to help Tommy to his feet. Tommy just kind of collapses uselessly at the man’s feet and makes a noise of discomfort. “Tommy!” Dream huffs. “You’re overreacting; it’s not like you’re dying. I’m not trying to kill you, you know, I was just trying to get the point across that - whatever.” He stretches his foot out and toes at Tommy’s bad hand.</p><p>“NO!” Tommy screeches with such velocity that it scares even himself, and startles Dream enough for him to back off. Tommy clumsily lunges toward the closet and manages to half-shut himself inside, the door swinging in the darkness.</p><p>“Fine!” Dream scoffs. “Stay in there until you’ve learned to act less like an animal.” There’s a small pause, a consideration of an idea. “Maybe I’ll feed you like one too.” </p><p>Tommy doesn’t have time to contemplate what that might mean before he hears his bedroom door shut as Dream leaves. What he does hear is the front door being knocked on.</p><p>Tommy’s eyes are closed tight and his back is crooked and bent into an uncomfortable angle, squished into a place he doesn’t fit, and the voices at the doorway fade in and out, one of them Dream and one of them...</p><p>“... Hasn’t been at school for... I was just wondering... Oh, okay... When do you think that’ll be?...”</p><p>It sounds like Tubbo. Tommy falls back asleep.</p><p>*</p><p>“Get up.” Someone is shaking his shoulders and Tommy is collapsing forward, and narrowly avoids slumping onto his bad hand. He coughs out a squeaking sound, one of more indignation than anything else. “Get up, now.”</p><p>Tommy opens his eyes and attempts to stretch out, his muscles aching and tingly from falling asleep on top of them. His legs are particularly dead, and so it takes him a moment to struggle to his feet. The lights are off and it’s dark outside - Tommy can tell even though the curtains are pulled shut - so it’s difficult to make out the silhouette of Dream in his room. He shivers.</p><p>Dream is holding Tommy’s old phone in his hand. “Someone wants to talk to you,” he says pointedly, and then with dangerous urgency, “I will be listening to you the entire time, and I swear to God—” A pressure tightening around the wrist above his bad hand, and Tommy almost buckles. “You better not do anything stupid.”</p><p>He passes Tommy the phone, and the teenager takes a second to breathe. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to talk but with his foster parent practically breathing down his neck in an active threat, he has the feeling he’ll be made to one way or another.</p><p>“H-he—” Tommy swallows hard. “Hello?”</p><p>“Tommy!” That’s Tubbo’s voice again, and Tommy is somewhat glad, but somewhat... pissed? Yeah. Yeah, that’s it. How dare he call asking for Tommy? How dare he live a perfectly normal, happy life, being able to go to school and see Ranboo, see Phil and his family, have parents who are there and who love him and—</p><p>Fuck, is he crying?</p><p>“Tubbo,” he mumbles anyway. He’s not sure what to say. Maybe Tubbo will do all the talking as he usually does. That would be nice. It would be nice not to have to worry what to say for once. He wipes the traces of tears from his eyes, cursing himself for getting emotional.</p><p>“Tommy, listen, I came by earlier today and I - I guess I shouldn’t have stuck my nose in other’s people’s businesses because, you know, I’m not too sure what Dream is like or - ah, shit. Shit. Okay. Are you okay?”</p><p>“I’m - I’m okay,” Tommy answers. Dream is staring right at him. Tommy wonders why he isn’t being made to put the call on speaker phone, but he isn’t about to bring that up.</p><p>“Well, the thing is, uh... I’m sorry it had to be like this and I hope I’m not being too forceful and maybe I’ve got it all wrong but I - we don’t believe you.”</p><p>“W—” ‘We’? Tommy can’t even echo the word, and maybe it’s for the best because he’d surely be asked questions about it from Dream.</p><p>There’s a rustling on the other end of the line and a new voice takes hold of the conversation, replacing Tubbo. “Hiya, Tommy!”</p><p>It’s Wilbur. Tommy wants to hold his head in his hands and he’s not sure he can stop himself hyperventilating. Whatever kind of intervention these people have planned, he knows he doesn’t want to be a part of it. Dream is right here - surely they must know this, surely they must know that nothing gets past him - but here they are, making it worse for him. Are they sadists? Do they want Tommy to get hurt even more?</p><p>And then Tommy has to remind himself that they don’t know he’s been hurt in the first place. Perhaps, however, they suspect it. Perhaps they’re really just looking out for his best interests and they don’t want to fuck him over. Fuck, not - not fuck, frick, freak, he’s a freak—</p><p>He’s confused.</p><p>“So here’s the thing,” Wilbur goes on cheerfully like nothing is amiss, but there’s a hint of manic in his voice like he’s on an important mission, “Dream told Tubbo that you had a really bad fever and you couldn’t come to school or even to the door, but then Mr Schlatt was in the parlour today and Phil mentioned that Tubbo mentioned you’d been absent, and then Schlatt said something about this bruise on your cheek and that he had spoken to Puffy about—”</p><p>God, Tommy’s head is thumping. “St-stop,” he pleads, and this catches Dream’s attention.</p><p>“Put it on speaker,” Dream says, and Tommy’s stomach drops.</p><p>Wilbur carries on talking, and his voice is abruptly amplified when Tommy puts the phone on speaker mode. “—I just figured something was definitely fishy and even the thing about your phone and not texting Tubbo back, and then Phil said—”</p><p>“Wilbur, Tommy is tired,” Dream cuts in, “you’ve interrupted our movie fest, actually.”</p><p>Silence. Then, “Oh? What movie are you watching?”</p><p>Dream glares at Tommy almost hatefully, like he’s blaming the kid for this entire ordeal, and it makes Tommy want to shrink into nothingness. Instead, Tommy blurts out, “A-Avengers.”</p><p>Dream rolls his eyes but doesn’t add anything more to it. Tommy, however, starts to regret his answer when he realises that he’s never seen any of the Avengers films and if Wilbur starts asking about it...</p><p>“Which one?”</p><p>“Infinity War,” Dream answers again quickly.</p><p>“Which part are you—”</p><p>“We’re nearing the end. It’s getting to the sad bit but I don’t want to ruin it for Tommy. We really should finish it before it gets too late.”</p><p>“Tommy—”</p><p>Dream hangs up the phone. For a moment Tommy figures he’s going to be alright because he’s already so hurt, and none of this is his fault, and he didn’t do or say anything to break the rules. It’s foolish of him, however, to think this way. He should know better by now. Before he knows it, he’s pushed back onto the ground.</p><p>“See what you’ve done?” Dream kicks his chest and Tommy rolls over, wheezing. He can’t do it again. He can’t do it, he can’t he can’t he—</p><p>Another kick on his bad arm, and Tommy wails at it. “If you had just left them alone like I told you to so many times, we never would have had this amount of bother. You could’ve had a good life here, Tommy, don’t you know that? But you seem to insist on ruining it, and you have nobody to blame but yourself. If they start to suspect anything and they take you away from me, it’s only going to get a hell of a lot worse.”</p><p>Can it get worse than this?</p><p>Dream picks him up by the scruff of his neck, tugging on his hair, and Tommy blindly reaches out, desperately clawing at the man’s hands. When that doesn’t work, he decides to just scream as loud as he possibly can, hoping at the very least it’ll pierce someone’s eardrums and, at best, alert someone that something is going on.</p><p>“Go ahead!” Dream yells over the screaming. “You know the windows are double-glazed and the house is detached; nobody will hear you!”</p><p>Tommy screams anyway all the way down the stairs he’s dragged down, his body aching as it bumps over every step. The carpet turns into wood and then tiles as he’s pushed into the kitchen, and tossed across the floor on his stomach. He stays down while Dream rustles around angrily in the cupboards.</p><p>The man shows up with a can of something that smells like rancid meat and a fork. “I told you I’d feed you like an animal.”</p><p>With one hand, Dream grabs a hold of Tommy’s head and pushes it towards the mystery can, and with the other he scoops some of the food up with the fork. Tommy desperately keeps his mouth shut, wanting to stay far away from whatever the hell he’s about to be force-fed.</p><p>Dream throws a knee into Tommy’s stomach and he can’t help but bend over to protect himself and gasp, and the fork is forced into his mouth. Tommy struggles and spits, and dares even to kick out a leg and aim for Dream’s midriff, which fails miserably as the taste envelopes his senses.</p><p>It’s fucking cat food. Tommy doesn’t even know when Dream decided to go out and buy the stuff - he doesn’t have a cat or any pets at all. It’s foul. Tommy decides right there and then that this isn’t normal. This isn’t right. None of his previous foster homes were ever this horrific.</p><p>He wants out. He wants to leave. He starts crying in earnest, and Dream finally lets him go and his head snaps back on the floor.</p><p>His mouth feels heavy, which is kind of blessing because the awful taste of the meat disappears. His face is heavy and feels like it’s made out of cotton, and his tears are quick to stop. He just... lies there.</p><p>“Tommy?” Dream’s voice cuts through the brain fog and Tommy blinks, dazed, trying to respond out of instinct more than anything.</p><p>Tommy looks at the ceiling with stars in his eyes. He thinks of Tubbo and how much he misses him, and Wilbur and Techno, and their sad smiles. He thinks of how much of a cool dad Phil must be to let his kids go to college parties and eat mint choc chip ice-cream all the time and drive a beat-up Toyota Corolla past curfew, and he wishes he could just swear in front of Dream, or even simply breathe without being smacked around.</p><p>Tommy knows this isn't how people are supposed to treat their foster kids but maybe he's like one of Pavlov's dogs, because when the hand on his hair is gentle enough, he's been trained to understand that means the punishment is over. Dream is letting him off easy and he starts to patch up his injuries and this - this is the reward, and Tommy's stuttered apologies should come naturally.</p><p>But he can’t speak. He's a fighter most of the time; just maybe not today.</p><p>Right? No. No, he can’t... he can’t live like this. He doesn’t want this - he doesn’t deserve this, any of it. He’s a human being, and he’s just a kid. As much as he might love to insist he’s a whole teenager and probably capable of taking care of himself, but at the end of the day, someone is responsible for his well-being, and they’re not doing it right.</p><p>Dream’s not right. Dream’s not good. Dream hurts him and he broke his hand and he fed him fucking cat food. Tommy would go vegetarian if it meant he never had to taste that shit again.</p><p>He wants Tubbo.</p><p>“Tommy,” Dream says softly, and a wet cloth touches the back of his head as he’s slightly propped up. He feels the quiet thrum of the fridge behind his back, but it’s detached and... weird. There’s probably something wrong with his brain at this point. “I didn’t mean to.”</p><p>To what? Whack his skull on the floor?</p><p>“I was harsh on you,” Dream is saying apologetically, “I let my anger get the best of me, but I just wanted you to see that I’m the only person who can take care of you. Those people aren’t your friends; they would never accept you, or love you. They’re a nuisance and they’re only going to get you sent to another home, a scary place with strangers who could never get you like I get you.”</p><p>Dream doesn’t ‘get’ Tommy. What is there to get? He doesn’t know anything about Tommy. He doesn’t care. People who care about you shouldn’t hurt you. The cloth comes away from his head and he sees spots of blood on it through his swarming vision.</p><p>Someone is knocking - no, banging - on the door. The noise is vicious and horribly imposing compared to the soft baritone of Dream’s voice and Tommy curls his legs up to his chest and chatters his teeth together. He’s so cold.</p><p>Dream curses under his breath. He’s being doing that a lot today. Something - someone - must really be getting on his nerves. Tommy doesn’t know who that could be because he’s confused now, and everything is bright and annoying and numb. He feels like he’s not a whole person anymore. He wants to sleep.</p><p>“Stay there,” Dream whispers before he gets up to answer the door. Tommy tries to focus and only sees the traces of his own blood on the tiles, and a can of half-spilled meat littered on top of it.</p><p>“... Don’t think for a fucking second I trust you.”</p><p>That’s... Technoblade. What the hell is he doing here? He coughs out to relieve the pressure on his torso, to ease the frustrating building pain from where Dream kicked his stomach.</p><p>There’s a brief hesitation then loud footsteps across the floor.</p><p>Tommy has never scrambled around on all fours so fast, driven by panic so great that it trumps even his probable - definite - concussion. Someone’s coming for him. He doesn’t - he can’t - it could be Dream to hurt him again, or it could be Technoblade who’s too big and scary and untrustworthy. He just wants to be left alone, forever.</p><p>“Techno,” Dream hisses from the kitchen doorway and then - then someone is touching him, and Tommy can’t see them but he turns over onto his side and jerks away, curling up.</p><p>“What have you done?” Techno’s still relatively unfamiliar voice sounds even stranger tinged with such horror.</p><p>Something red billows over him, warm and soft. Tommy breathes into it.</p><p>“You sick bast—” Techno cuts himself off. Tommy still can’t see right and he’s still struggling to make everything out, to sort it out in his injured head. This doesn’t make sense. There’s not supposed to be someone else here.</p><p>The red thing, the - the cloak? Whatever is blanketed over him, it really is pleasantly warm, and he clutches to it like it’s a lifeline.</p><p>“You have no business being here,” Dream snaps, but he sounds antsy. They’re angry at each other over - what, over Tommy? That doesn’t make sense either. Tommy isn’t someone people care about; Dream made that perfectly clear.</p><p>Maybe Dream is just realising he couldn’t take Technoblade in a fight if it came to it. Techno is a pretty big guy, Tommy decides, and they’ve brawled before.</p><p>“You’re going to let me take him away right now,” Techno says in a low voice, “and when I get to the hospital, I’m going to call the police.”</p><p>“Or?”</p><p>“Or I’ll end you.”</p><p>Like he should’ve done a long time ago.</p><p>There is external silence accompanying the deafening ringing in Tommy’s ears. The teen shivers still, refusing to let go of the red cloak that provides the barest hints of well-needed warmth. He feels himself being moved, pulled gently to his feet, and he sways, but doesn’t fall.</p><p>“He can’t even walk—”</p><p>“And whose fault is that?” Techno practically roars, and there’s tense hesitation again. Then, softer, just for Tommy to hear: “I’m gonna help you, alright? I won’t let him hurt you anymore. Phil’s waiting in the car, he’ll take us away.”</p><p>But Tommy doesn’t want to ‘go away’. Despite everything, he can’t face being sent away somewhere else. He tries to ground his feet to the floor, choking on his own breath, but it’s useless. Techno has to try and half-carry him away, but he accidentally brushes Tommy’s hand.</p><p>Tommy cries out, pulling his hand to his chest to cradle it, and Techno stops to let that horror creep into his voice once again. “Did he break your hand?” He turns back to Dream. “You broke his fucking hand?”</p><p>“Did I?” Dream tilts his head. “You forget yourself. How easy would it be, a man of my standing, in good graces with all the law enforcement as far as the eye can see - how easy would it be just to pin it all on, say, you? You broke into my house and kidnapped my kid, and he has a concussion, so I reckon he’ll remember things a little different too.”</p><p>“I should break your bones,” Techno snaps, almost to himself, before he says louder, “but you know you’re done. You know you’re not getting away with this, as persuasive as your arguments can be. We’ll get George on our side.”</p><p>“George will have nothing to do with you,” Dream hisses.</p><p>“He’ll have been waiting for you to slip up again. We’ll get you this time.”</p><p>“Good luck.”</p><p>“Just you wait, you sadistic little shit. I’ll see you locked up if it’s the last thing I do.”</p><p>And Techno finally takes Tommy away.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Break In The Clouds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>At last, Tommy receives some much-needed help. Side note: the plot around Puffy’s card sitting in Tommy’s pocket will be expanded upon soon.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Phil! PHIL!”</p><p>Techno could actually murder Dream. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have the same influence over the justice system and such a crime isn’t likely to go unnoticed or unpunished. But it doesn’t mean he can’t come up with an elaborate and entirely hypothetical plan to torture the man slowly to death.</p><p>Techno remembers, after one night buried too deep in the weird side of the internet, the creepy side of YouTube, advice on how to hide a body. He could totally take a shovel out into the woods, dig a hole several feet deeper than is really necessary, and cover Dream’s corpse with roadkill. Then if anyone thought him suspicious, all that would be dug up is the animal on the top layer. Maybe Techno would call the cops himself to put in an anonymous tip as a form of insurance. And hence, get away with murder.</p><p>But of course, none of this is going to happen; at least, not now. Now, Techno has a beaten-up teenage boy clinging to him like a lifeline, half-conscious and definitely concussed. Having dealt with some similar injuries in his time, Techno knows the urgency of the situation, and how quickly he must act to get Tommy the help he needs.</p><p>Another voice rings out in the night, breathless and desperate and concerned.</p><p>“Did you check - oh. Oh, alright, shit.”</p><p>Tommy’s head is still spinning. The streetlights are too bright, piercing his skull like a hundred arrows from overhead despite the red tint provided from Techno’s cloak. Another figure worries over him, blocking out some of the light as a car door swings behind them.</p><p>“How quickly can we get to the hospital?” Techno asks gruffly.</p><p>“Uh, I could get us there in forty minutes?”</p><p>“Forty.” Techno doesn’t sound impressed. Tommy, having previously kept a good grip on the pink-haired man’s cloak, starts slipping. He starts falling, face-down, before he’s hauled back to his feet, supported more now than before. He doesn’t want to fall asleep so he’s glad for the additional help. “Phil.” A fraction of frustration.</p><p>“Twenty if the police aren’t out,” Phil relents. Another pair of arms slip under him and help escort him towards the car. Tommy makes a noise of distrust and unease but Phil shushes him. “It’s gonna be okay, Tommy.” Then to Techno, as if to reassure himself and his son: “It always looks worse than it really is.”</p><p>Phil really is trying to reassure himself, because if Tommy’s already awful condition deteriorates... Phil hates to think that things could go any more south. And he would blame himself for not being more forceful about the fact Tommy is welcome to seek refuge in his house, to get shelter in his home with his family. He should’ve checked up on the boy earlier, but it was only when Tubbo relayed the information that Tommy had disappeared from school for a week that he thought twice about it.</p><p>How long has Tommy been with Dream now? That entire week that he went unheard, what had Dream done? Phil helps Tommy into the backseat of the car with Techno, strapping his seatbelt in, careful to avoid touching him too much for fear of injuries he hasn’t seen yet. So far, he’s seen Tommy’s wrapped up hand and it doesn’t look good, with bruising all the way up his wrist, bent at an unnatural angle. It’s undoubtably broken.</p><p>Phil swallows his rage and rushes to the driver’s seat.</p><p>“He made him...” Techno tries again, livid but also carefully quiet. “He was force-feeding him cat food, Phil.”</p><p>The conversation floats in and out of Tommy’s ears.</p><p>“Keep him awake,” is all Phil says in response, trying not to think too much about it. If he does, he’ll spiral, and he needs to concentrate on the road.</p><p>“George was right,” Techno goes on with a little bit of remorse, “but we knew that already. We should’ve fought harder. And for Wilbur, and for how he hurt you...”</p><p>“He’s a piece of shit,” Phil confirms.</p><p>“But to hurt a kid, his own kid? To hurt Tommy?”</p><p>Phil lets his foot press harder on the accelerator, going up the gears as they join the motorway. It’s late and there aren’t many cars out, and Phil can only hope he remembers where all the speed cameras are and there aren’t any additional measures that will get in his way. He’s sure if they got pulled over, it would be excused on the grounds of needing immediate medical attention, but that’s extra time they can’t afford to waste.</p><p>Tommy lets his head roll around on his shoulders, but keeps his eyes open. He feels like he’s on a rollercoaster and... oh, God, he can’t be sick. As much as he wants to be, especially considering the last thing he unwillingly ate, he doesn’t want to dirty Phil’s car. He doesn’t want to cause them any more bother. Already, he’s in deep shit. And already...</p><p>Tommy paws at Techno’s arm, the one around his neck to keep his head upright. Techno perks up, wanting to know how he can help, but it doesn’t help that Tommy isn’t in a position to speak.</p><p>“He might throw up,” Phil says, seeing the commotion from his mirror, “if he’s got a concussion. And...”</p><p>“Do you - do you have gum or something? It could help with the taste, and to ground him.”</p><p>“Yeah; good idea.” Phil reaches into one of the cupholders by his seat to locate a packet of Extra Spearmint. He offers a piece to Techno who helps Tommy chew it.</p><p>“Is that better?” Phil asks Tommy. He just hopes the kid nods his head, and that Phil can say he’s done at least one thing right. They’re maybe ten minutes away at their current speed, and they just need to hold on.</p><p>“What if Dream gets away with this?” Techno asks, still upset.</p><p>“He won’t,” Phil replies at once, and the certainty in his voice is not to be argued with, “we have so many incidents to bring up now, and this is solid proof, right here. The bastard mutilated a child’s hand and - and for what? There’s no excuse for that. I always tell you violence isn’t the answer, but it’s especially the case when it’s directed towards a kid.”</p><p>“I can think of an example where violence might help now,” Techno huffs.</p><p>“You can’t think like that right now,” Phil snaps, “look, we’re almost there. I’ll take Tommy in and you stay out here and call Wilbur to let him know where we are. Hopefully he’ll relay the information to Tubbo because as much as Tommy might not like it, the more people that know about this, the better.”</p><p>Tommy groans, and his eyes shut.</p><p>Phil reaches an arm out behind him, somewhat gently patting Tommy’s knee. “Techno,” he says with urgency.</p><p>“Tommy,” Techno says, “come on, you can’t fall asleep on us now.” At the expected lack of response, he continues, “We’re almost there, you’re almost safe. Five more minutes, alright? Can you do that? Don’t make me peel your eyelids back, ‘cause that’s kinda gross.”</p><p>If Tommy were more awake, he’d have the sense to cringe back. He doesn’t want anyone anywhere near him, much less his eyelids. And he’s trying his best, he really is, but the world is too much and too bright and too bad, so he slips away just for a moment.</p><p>*</p><p>Tommy dreams of Mr Schlatt. Some small part of him recognises it’s not normal to have unconscious thoughts of your English teacher unless there’s an assignment coming up - and shit, is there? In his dreams, he’s not quite able to grasp the concept of due dates, so he lets it slide.</p><p>Mr Schlatt isn’t speaking to him about due dates or essays anyway. He’s reading a copy of some Penguin classic book, but it’s upside-down. Tommy is in class, and it’s peaceful and undisturbed, but he needs to break the silence, so he sticks his hand in the air.</p><p>Mr Schlatt looks up from the book he wasn’t reading and raises one comical eyebrow. “Yes, Tommy?”</p><p>“Can I have some help with this question?” Tommy is pleased to hear the lack of stuttering, though nobody else comments on it. In fact, no-one is even so much as looking at him with the exception of his teacher.</p><p>“Sure, let’s have a look.” Mr Schlatt gets up and wanders over to Tommy’s desk. The man is dressed in a formal suit, his tie tightened up to his Adam’s apple. Tommy keeps his gaze cast downwards on the page of his notebook he’s working on. His textbook is open to his left, stuck on a page of multiple-choice questions.</p><p>“Which one?” Mr Schlatt asks. Tommy lets out a silent ‘oh’ as he realises he isn’t sure exactly which question he’s on. He’s not... he’s not sure why he called his teacher over because he doesn’t recognise any of the questions or what he’s doing, and nothing makes sense. He clams up.</p><p>Mr Schlatt bends down next to his desk, bouncing on his knees in a weak attempt to appear less imposing. “It’s alright, kid. Just tell me what’s up. Nobody else can hear you.”</p><p>“They can’t?”</p><p>“Nah. They’re in their own dreamscapes, but you’ve made it to mine. Cool, isn’t it?”</p><p>“I’m not in your dream,” Tommy protests, “you’re in mine.”</p><p>“Literally none of this is real, you know. You could scream at the top of your fucking lungs and nobody would bat an eyelid.” Mr Schlatt blinks and seems to do a double-take at himself when Tommy leans away from him. “That sounded kinda sus but you get what I mean.”</p><p>“Nothing’s ‘up’,” Tommy says, changing the subject.</p><p>“Plenty of things are ‘up’ - the sky, the ceiling, that one movie with the goofy golden retriever who communicates through his collar. Did you ever see that? I don’t know what kids watch these days.”</p><p>“Nothing’s wrong, then,” Tommy huffs out. He’s slightly shocked to hear the resentment in his own voice. This man has done nothing bad to him and for some reason, Tommy is pissed. Maybe he just wants to be left alone, or maybe he’s struggling to speak about his feelings when he’s not even sure what they mean himself. God, he sounds like his very own therapist.</p><p>“I noticed something was wrong,” Mr Schlatt rebukes, “the day you showed up to my class with the bruise on your face. You weren’t fooling me.” At Tommy’s silence, he presses on, “I know it’s harder to talk about this stuff than people make out. You probably don’t even know what to say.”</p><p>“Can you read my mind?” Tommy asks entirely seriously. Mr Schlatt chuckles to himself and shakes his head. “You never know, man, it’s just a dream.”</p><p>“Well, exactly. It’s just a dream.” Mr Schlatt taps his chin thoughtfully with his thumb. “I understand if you don’t want to try to talk to me; I’m your English teacher, shit, you hardly know me. Do you reckon there’s anyone else you could speak to, though?”</p><p>“I guess I’ll have to find someone now,” Tommy says, realising the truth. He’s going to wake up and... God, he’s not ready for it. Why did Techno have to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong? Tommy groans and buries his face in his notebook.</p><p>“Yeah, you’re not getting off easy on this one.”</p><p>“Maybe I’ll just never speak again,” Tommy grumbles.</p><p>“Hey, don’t be like that. Don’t you want that fucker Dream to get what he deserves?”</p><p>“Dream...” Tommy’s head hurts thinking about his guardian. He has so many mixed feelings about the whole thing. On the one hand, he feels like he needs Dream, but on the other he could very well do without the never-ending pain he’s been living through. He’s already reached the conclusion Dream is a shit guardian, so why is it so complicated? “I don’t know...”</p><p>“You’re good friends with Tubbo, right?”</p><p>“Good friends?” Tommy echoes. “Do you think?” It would be nice if that were the case but he’s not convinced Tubbo likes him all that much, whereas Tommy has clutched onto the boy like his own lifeline. He can’t imagine a world without his friend in it anymore, which is alarming given the short time they’ve known each other.</p><p>“Oh, I know. You two are practically inseparable at school already.”</p><p>“You think I could...?”</p><p>“Yeah, you could talk to him. He’s just a kid so I’m not sure how much he’d understand but, you know,” Mr Schlatt muses with a heavy shrug of his shoulders, “you’re just a kid too.”</p><p>“I’m not a kid,” Tommy scoffs defiantly, “I’m a man. A full-grown man capable of taking care of himself.”</p><p>“Whatever you are, it’s okay to turn to other people sometimes. You have friends - use ‘em.” Mr Schlatt gets up and pops a bone in his back at the effort, giving himself time to stretch out before he goes back to his own desk. “I trust I’ve helped with your question. You wanna get back to work?”</p><p>“Uh... yeah.” Tommy stares blankly at his textbook then at his notebook which is relatively unused. It doesn’t matter, though. He has clarity on other things now.</p><p>*</p><p>“... I would predict a four-week period of bedrest for his midsection to recover. He should use ice packs to minimise the swelling and keep up to date with the painkillers, to keep infection away too... No, no bandages. But it’s important he keeps moving and practicing the breathing exercises I advised—”</p><p>Tommy cracks an eye open. At once, there’s a doctor hovering over him.</p><p>“Hello, Thomas. Do you know where you are?”</p><p>That’s an idiotic question. Is that the default question for everybody who wakes up in a hospital bed?</p><p>Wait.</p><p>Tommy’s breathing picks up and he starts hyperventilating, and he ignores the stabbing pain across his torso in his doing so. His vision swarms when a light in shone into his eyes and he flinches back violently.</p><p>“You’re scaring him!” Someone appears from the corner of Tommy’s eyes, putting a determined hand on the doctor’s shoulder. The doctor relents, pulling the light away from Tommy’s eyes. Tommy blinks once, twice, and chokes on air.</p><p>“I just wanted to check how well you followed the light in regards to your concussion,” the doctor explains to Tommy, “but it’s not important right now. I can see you need some space. I’ll leave you two alone and come back in, say, ten minutes, okay?”</p><p>Phil nods as the doctor leaves, flexing his fists in and out of formation. Some people have no heart or emotional intelligence at all. He makes sure to stay far away from Tommy but still in the centre of his field of vision, so his presence is neither intimidating nor surprising. Tommy watches him with exhaustion evident in his eyes.</p><p>“Can you speak?” Phil asks hopefully. Tommy opens his mouth to try, but when all that come out are several wheezing noises, he gives up. “That’s alright. I wouldn’t know what to say if I were you either. Can you... can you nod, or shake your head, or...?”</p><p>Tommy rolls his head to the side. Dream is going to come and get him. Dream will bring him home and patch him up. Dream will be good to him.</p><p>Dream has to be good to him. Where else will Tommy get that kind of validation? God knows nobody has been interested in caring for him before, and why should they? Tommy knows he’s a burden. He understands that if Dream doesn’t come for him (and the mixed feelings he has about this are overwhelming), he’ll be straight back into foster care. And as his guardian pointed out, that doesn’t mean anything positive.</p><p>With Dream, he has his own bed, even if he’s been made to sleep out in the garden before. His own heating system, even if he’s constantly fighting chills in his bones, constantly tiptoeing around the broken glass that makes up Dream’s mood, and—</p><p>No. With Dream, he has pain. He has had pain, past tense; nobody’s doubting that with the very fact he’s in the hospital. He ignores Phil and stares at his hand which has been rewrapped and looks... different. They’ve clearly done something with it but it’s all numb, and maybe he’s on painkillers targeting that specific injury because it’s the only part of him that tingles and doesn’t ache.</p><p>His brain aches. He’s still just as confused as he was when he was urged into Phil’s car, concussed to hell.</p><p>“Tommy?” Phil prompts cautiously.</p><p>Tommy sighs and nods his head.</p><p>“There’s... there are going to be some people coming in to interview you. They’re going to ask you questions about Dream and—”</p><p>Tommy gets himself into a coughing fit trying to speak, trying desperately to convey how much he doesn’t want to participate in that. He doesn’t want to talk about Dream. What would he say? And those ‘people’, he knows exactly who they’ll work for, and... and he can’t get anyone in trouble, and he can’t go back into the system, he just can’t—</p><p>What’s going to happen to him?</p><p>“Hey, it’s alright, mate.” Phil hurriedly does his best to comfort the boy, picking up a cup of water from the bedside table to offer up. “Have a drink, catch your breath. We have time before that; you don’t have to worry about it yet.”</p><p>Yet. It’s always yet. But one day, his scars are going to resurface, and he’ll break down. He can’t deal with that, ever.</p><p>He just wants Tubbo. He also wants to cry, but he can’t - it’s like all the tears have dried up in his sleep. Phil takes the water away when Tommy’s drank half of it.</p><p>“The police have already taken him in,” Phil informs Tommy, careful not to mention his foster parent’s name. Tommy notices this but appreciates the effort nonetheless. “You know a little bit already about his... troubled past. There are people who will side with you, you know, and we’ll get him locked up. I promise you’ll be fine. You don’t have to worry about it.”</p><p>Tommy can’t help but worry. It’s easier said than done not to be concerned. He doesn’t care if Dream ends up in jail or not; he cares about what happens after that. He cares about being back in a place where his foster siblings scream at him and trample his belongings and force him to sleep on the floor so they can keep their precious property on his bed.</p><p>“I’m so sorry,” Phil goes on, rambling now, “I should’ve noticed something was up. Techno said - and Wilbur - Jesus, I’m just... I’m sorry. You know, uh, I know this hospital wing pretty well with all the time I spent here visiting Techno. He used to get in fights all the time right up until he got into uni and started drinking to deal with it instead. It being... himself. His past, his trauma. He doesn’t like to talk about it but he said I could tell you, and that he’d be willing to listen if you ever want to talk to him about it. God, I realise I’m overstepping a million boundaries here.” He scratches the back of his head. “Are you tried? You must be tired. The doctor will be back soon to presumably knock you out.”</p><p>Tommy doesn’t know why he can’t speak. He wants to, now. He wants to say a million things but he can’t. The words die on his tongue and maybe something happened to his brain to physically prevent him from speaking, or maybe there’s a blockage in his psyche that tells him he needs time to heal before he’ll be allowed to make a sound again. Whatever the reason is, he just has to live with it for now.</p><p>He can still think it, in his head. Phil might not be able to hear it but maybe, hopefully, he can see it in Tommy’s eyes.</p><p>Thank you.</p><p>The doctor comes back in, but not to put him back to sleep. Tommy is grateful for this because although being in the world of the living sucks ass right now, he knows he’d rather be fully aware of what’s going on around him. “Your visiting time is about up,” the doctor informs Phil, and this time he has the decency to look slightly regretful at what he’s saying.</p><p>Phil shoots Tommy a reassuring smile before he leaves. The doctor then says, “I was just going over the precautions you’ll need to take in the coming weeks for your injuries with Phil. It’s undetermined where you’ll be, uh, ending up once you’re discharged but he’ll be able to tell you all about what you should be doing when you’re ready to hear it.”</p><p>‘Undetermined’. Tommy resists the urge to scowl, not wishing to be rude.</p><p>“But you should know, naturally, to stay away from your bad hand as much as possible. It was a bad break, but not unrepairable. A couple of months and it should be back to normal.”</p><p>That was the timeframe Dream gave him as well. He wonders if Dream researched into it, and knew the type of ‘accident’ he was causing. Was it premeditated? Tommy feels sick thinking it could have been.</p><p>The doctor flicks through some charts on his clipboard, clicking his tongue to himself while processing the information. “The social worker will be in shortly. I want you to know you don’t have to answer anything you’re uncomfortable talking about, Thomas. She’s also aware of your current inability to express answers vocally, but we have alternate arrangements for that sort of thing. If appropriate, the next people to speak to will be the police.”</p><p>Tommy is sweating. He does not want to speak to the police.</p><p>“I’ll come back in when she arrives to make sure you’re okay. How’s your pain right now?”</p><p>Tommy shakes his head, indicating it’s manageable. He’d rather have the little edge of pain in his torso to keep him alert than get doped up with drugs. He wants to be fully alert for the questioning he’s about to face.</p><p>“Ring the buzzer if you need anything,” the doctor tells him. He closes the door behind him, leaving Tommy in peace to contemplate his life.</p><p>He thinks about what Mr Schlatt said in his dream, and exhales slowly. Whether he wants it or not, ‘help’ is going to be pushed upon him. It’s up to him now whether he’ll finally accept it or not.</p>
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